Throne Agent
by Staffen
Summary: When desperate circumstances place him with an Ordo Malleus Inquisitor, an ostracized Death Korpsman finds himself at the center of a war against the Calixis Sector's oldest, most devious curse. What can a mere Guardsman do to battle a Heretic Extremis?
1. Volume I  Part 1

**I**  
**THE CALLING**

**1**  
**Trojus, Ixaniad Sector**

Dig. Dig. Dig.  
That was what he had been ordered to do, and so he did it.  
Dig. Dig. Dig.  
The word lingered on his mind - it was the only thing he could think about as he dug out the shallow grave.  
Dig. _Dig. Dig!_  
The more he thought about it, the more his anger and his grief boiled over. He was not used to coping with these emotions; never before had he needed to.  
Dig...  
He gasped as he lobbed the final load of soil into the pile, and then climbed up out of the hole. He let the shovel fall from his hands, and stared back at the corpse. She looked so ugly, with the gas mask on, so completely uniform; simply another dead soldier. He dropped to his knees beside her, and with shaking hands, he slowly put his hands on her helmet; he cautiously slid it off her head, as though she were only sleeping. For a second, he entertained that thought - yes! Only sleeping!  
He moaned as the reality returned to him.  
He put the helmet down beside her, and then reached behind her head, unclasping the bands holding the mask to her face; as he drew it away, he winced at the hideous, dark blemish on her forehead, which ruined her otherwise pristine countenance.  
He pulled back her balaclava, revealing her beautiful golden hair, two inches longer than regulation permitted. With an unsteady, gauntleted finger he brushed back a lock which had fallen upon her brow. His sight fell again upon the blemish.  
For a moment, he sat over her, staring at the splendor death had failed to take from her, until he recalled his orders.  
Drop her in. Drop her in.  
He wrapped his arms around her waist in that same loving gesture he had once enjoyed; this time, however, there was no affectionate reaction, no slender arms slipping about his head. He lifted her up, and stepped down into the muddy pit he had made for her in the crater.  
He carefully put her down in the center of it, though a splash of mud dirtied her faultless hair in spite of his efforts. As he stared down at her body, he could bear the restraint no longer. He undid the chinstrap of his helmet, threw it aside, then hastily, desperately undid the clasps of his gas mask, letting it hang from its air hose at his side. He collapsed beside the body; and, as frustrated tears welled up in his eyes, he hurriedly pushed his lips to hers, kissing her one last time. He pulled away, only to drop his head against her bosom, like a child seeking the warmth of his mother. He struggled with the urge to stay there like that, until he sat up beside her. He patted over his greatcoat, searching for that last gift from her - where was it? He became distraught as he searched his pockets. Eventually, a thin piece of cloth slipped out of its inner hiding place, right beside his heart. He woefully gazed at it, debating with himself whether he truly wished to part with it or not; he eventually conceded that the repugnant las-mark on her forehead simply needed to be covered up.  
He returned her gift, so petty and yet so enrapturing for him. He spread it across her face, then climbed up the wall of the hole, dragging himself away from the crater.  
He turned back and stared at the very mouth of her grave, considering covering it up again.  
No. He had been ordered to leave it open. He was to report back after digging the hole, and then after doing so he was to collect other heretic corpses and deposit them in it; he would thereafter get a team to burn the mass.  
He lingered for a moment, before turning away. As he began to walk, he took his gas mask again and strapped it on.  
Report back. Report back…  
Back to work.

"What a disaster," Lamortes lamented, "what a disaster."  
The Lady Inquisitor narrowed her eyes. "What were you expecting of this?" she snapped. "A hunt across three different sectors. Half of the acolytes were dead by the time we even got to this point. It's to be expected that we'd lose all of them by the end of this."  
The chimera and its occupants violently shook about as it dipped into, then exited a trench; the Lady, lacking a proper grip in her seat, held herself steady against the cramped Chaplain beside her.  
Alert and worried, Moerchen looked down at her. "Are you well, my Lady?"  
The Lady Inquisitor nodded, as the chimera evened out. "I'm tired, that's all."  
Lamortes raised his head, augmetic eye whirring as it refocused. "I imagine you would be. You just killed an unbound daemonhost after charging through its army of devotees. Did I mention you've lost all your Acolytes? Now you've got to find others."  
The Lady kicked her Tech-Priest companion with a plated boot, invoking a flinch from him. "Don't worry yourself, Lamortes. I will," she assured. "I will."

"The Inquisitor has come to see you, Sir."  
Colonel-Commissar Fernand Audes sat up in his cot with a light groan, mindful of the capped stubs where his legs had been a few hours ago - the injury seemed to signify the fact that he had finally lost control over the regiment: Colonel von Klauser's death had been the catalyst, one which his cross-duty field-promotion had failed to keep in check.  
"Let her in," he rasped to the masked nurse as he scratched at his stubble, which had thrived over the course of the last few days of fieldwork. The nurse nodded, and closed the door again, leaving him to brood while the Commissar's guest arrived.  
Von Klauser had obviously been much better-learned in the inconceivable art of guiding the Korpsmen. When he died in the first few days of the siege, the Lady Inquisitor had Audes named Colonel-Commissar in hopes to fill the space in the madness. This initiative failed miserably, and by the time Audes lost his legs to falling wreckage, the troops were taking matters of morale and integrity into their own hands. One particular soldier had already been executed when she refused to kill a suspected heretic found in the wreckage.  
Then there was the matter of her companion...  
The flakboard door opened again, and this time, in stepped the woman in whose servitude Colonel-Commissar Audes had lost his legs, Colonel von Klauser had lost his life, and hundreds of Korpsmen had died over the span of weeks.  
She stood tall and thin in her light power armor. Her brown hair, of fair length, was pulled back into a braid. A loose skirt of red cloth hung from below her waist, contrasting against the dark grey of her armor.  
She struck quite the impressive figure, Audes thought, even if he could not help but feel uncomfortable in her presence. Whatever the case, he found himself unable to shake his irritation. "My Lady," he blankly said in greeting.  
Seeing his condition, the Lady Inquisitor was taken aback; she hesitated for a moment to say anything, but quickly overcame her apprehension, for the sake of closure. "On behalf of the Inquisition, on behalf of the Imperium at-large, I thank you for the sacrifices you have made over the last several-"  
"I appreciate your thanks," Audes grunted. He immediately realized he would likely regret such a show of disrespect, but the Lady's lack of a hostile response did nothing to make him worry. "Was there a reason," he grunted as he pushed himself to a sitting position on the edge of the bed, "that you came to see me? Apart from to show your gratitude."  
"I've lost a significant number of my retainers in defeating the archenemy here. Your soldiers have proven themselves heroes beyond a doubt in the course of this siege, and I wished to induct some of them into my team."  
"So you're asking my permission to do this?"  
The Lady nodded.  
"What sort of people are you looking for?"  
"I need people who I can send around to do investigations for me, take care of lesser foes, and such minor work for the Throne. Intelligence-gathering, spying."  
Audes let out a heavy breath. "I must be honest with you, Mamzel, none of my soldiers would make particularly good agents in that regard. They're fanatics in the highest extreme. They don't follow orders particularly well when they think it will take too long to do their duty. It's part of the Krieg psychological induction, they're trained to profoundly despise any idea of heresy. They will do what their sense of justice feels is right. You'll be very hard-pressed to control them." He shifted about. "And as for me, I've completely lost control over them."  
The Lady sighed. "So there is no-one you'd recommend?"  
Audes narrowed his eyes. "Actually, yes. Yes there is one."

He looked quite like a phantom as he entered the camp, surrounded by the gloom of the gathering evening fogs. A few others turned their heads and watched as he entered. They were already planning to kill him, too.  
As he stumbled towards the command post, he was approached by a woman; a nurse from the infirmary, as her red armband indicated.  
"The Commissar wants to see you," she announced to him... as cold as any words from any of the others. With no purpose to linger, she left for the tunnels, and he soon followed after her.

Both Audes and the Lady Inquisitor sat in silence while they waited. The atmosphere which hung over the room was unpleasant. Obviously, the Lady found, the Colonel-Commissar was not pleased with her... perhaps he was bitter over his legs?  
The Lady, sitting in a folding chair beside the Colonel-Commissar's bed, crossed her legs and leaned forward. "So... tell me about this guardsman," she said, hoping to break the unwanted peace.  
Audes made an odd face at this. "He, ah... it's best I talk only after you've had a chance to speak with him. He's a bit different. He's a good and tough soldier..."  
"Will there be a problem with him? Is he psychotic?"  
"No, no," Audes held his hands up, "he's not crazy or anything-"  
The door opened; both the Lady Inquisitor and the Colonel-Commissar turned their heads as a Korpsman entered.  
At least, it wore the uniform of the Death Korps. Everything about the posture of this gentleman upon the moment he entered cried out to the character of a broken man - it was an aura the Lady Inquisitor knew well in her travels. Seemingly aware of his languished appearance, the man quickly straightened himself out as he realized the status of the woman before him.  
"So... this is him?" the Lady asked, now somewhat concerned.  
Audes nodded. "Heidrich, this is our Lady Inquisitor. It was by her will that our taskforce was directed to Trojus."  
The Korpsman quickly folded his arms across his chest and kneeled before her. None of this was particularly impressing the Lady Inquisitor. "I've seen enough," she said in a tone mocking politeness.  
"Go wait outside," Audes ordered, waving the Korpsman away. The soldier got to his feet, and turned to the door.  
As soon as he was gone, the Lady Inquisitor glared at Audes, no longer willing to be patient with his disrespect. "What are you up to, trying to get him to work under me?"  
"Now just a minute-"  
"That man obviously had some serious problems. The sort that aren't suitable for an Agent, let alone an Acolyte!"  
"I understand!" Audes shouted, and the Lady Inquisitor gave him heed. "Look... I said I've lost control of my unit? That man out there was never really quite in the same mindset as the rest of the Korps. A certain girl wasn't either. As far as I know, they... had a thing going on between them. She was 'executed' by the rest of the regiment a few hours ago, for refusing to kill a couple of survivors out in the ruins."  
The Lady hid her mouth with her hand to muffle a gasp.  
"They're going to kill him next, I don't have much doubt about that," Audes told her. "I don't want to see the kid die at the hands of his kin. Please, spare this man. Get him away from here. Review his abilities once he's calmed down, if you doubt him. He'll be willing to do whatever you want him to do."  
The Lady Inquisitor was still hiding her mixed shock, horror and disgust. Audes looked up at her with an expectant stare, goading a response out of her... yet there was little need for it. "I..." she began to speak, still unable to hide her surprise. "I see. I owe this man quite a bit, it seems."  
Never a comment Audes expected from an Inquisitor.  
"You think he'll get over his current state?"  
"It's nothing but shock. He'll return to normal soon enough."  
The Lady Inquisitor nodded. "I'll be taking him with me then."  
Now it was Audes who was shocked. "I thank you, Milady." The Lady Inquisitor nodded, and left the Colonel-Commissar. Alone, Audes sighed, and laid back on his bed.  
"Emperor be with you, kid," he whispered to himself, and closed his eyes.

As the Lady Inquisitor reentered the infirmary hallway, she found the Korpsman, fumbling around with something in his hands, desperately attempting to put it away as he stood up to salute her; she paid it no mind, nevertheless. "Up. We need to be going. Do you have anything you need to pack?"  
He nodded.  
"Let's go get it..." She paused on that last syllable. "By the way, what was your name?"  
The Korpsman hesitated for a moment. "Two-forty-six, two-eleven, sixty-three-twenty-one-zero, forty-six, Heidrich."  
The Lady blinked. "Come again?"  
"Two-forty-six-"  
"No no, do you have an actual name?"  
"Two-forty-"  
"No! A name, not an identification number!"  
The Korpsman paused for a moment. "Heidrich."  
"Are you actually able to speak normally?"  
"Yes..."  
"Great. Come, let's go pack your things."

Lamortes watched for several minutes as the Chaplain, arms folded, shifted between staring at the transport floor, and the rear access hatch.  
"She's been gone a while," Moerchen pointed out.  
"Patience is a virtue, my oversized companion," Lamortes said, raising a finger. "There shouldn't be reason to worry, considering we're in the middle of an Imperial Guard encampment. It would be suicidal to attack an Inquisitor here."  
"Perhaps," Moerchen uneasily acknowledged. "But is it really reasonable to take upwards of twenty minutes to get some new recruits together?"  
"Yes, I would think so."  
There was a familiar bang against the hatch, and a moment later, when both the occupants of the chimera had turned their attention to it, the access opened.  
"Milady!" Moerchen cried from his seat. "What took you?"  
"We had to make a few runs to get everything..." the Lady Inquisitor explained, pulling herself up into the body of the transport.  
"Then you got the recruits?" Lamortes asked watching her as she sat down in her seat beside Moerchen. He noticed the man getting into the chimera, a rucksack full of gear and his lasgun strapped behind his shoulder. For a moment, the Tech-Priest watched that spot, expecting someone else to appear; he quickly caught on, and turned his eyes again to the Lady Inquisitor. "Is... this guardsman... the only one?"  
The Lady Inquisitor nodded. "His name's Heidrich. He's supposed to be a tough one. You know, the 'quality over quantity' type."  
Lamortes looked again to the Korpsman - he was seated, but he now stared in amazement up at Moerchen.  
The Chaplain himself quickly noticed this. "You have never met a Space Marine before, lowly mortal?" he amusedly asked.  
"N-no," the Korpsman croaked.  
Moerchen chuckled over his skull mask's filter. "Then I am honored to be the first!"  
The Lady Inquisitor leaned forward in the compartment and looked down the aisle towards the front of the vehicle. "All set! Get us to the landing zone!" she shouted; upon this command, the chimera jolted into motion.

The Lady Inquisitor watched from the base of the embarkation ramp as the rest of her retinue boarded the craft; when the Korpsman stepped up, she stopped him. "Hey. Take the mask off."  
Suddenly tense, the Korpsman looked up at her.  
"Go on. Take it off. You don't need it, you'll just get hot. It's a bit warmer on my vessel."  
The Korpsman stared at her for a second. "I... thank you for this... opportunity."  
"Don't worry about it," the Lady Inquisitor said, smiling down at him - it obviously had an effect. "Just get that thing off your face." She let him pass when he began to take his mask off.

As the lander rose up from the pad, Moerchen, the Lady Inquisitor, and Lamortes began to engage in conversation - trivial review of the day's work.  
"I personally am rather distressed we have been unable to ascertain the nature of that daemonhost," Lamortes said.  
"It was an unbound host. Those aren't uncommon," the Lady dismissively said. "My present suspicion is that some dumb bunch of cultists thought it would be funny. Whoever made it is likely dead now."  
Meanwhile, in the corner seat, the Korpsman laid his mask down beside him, and took one of his heavy gauntlets off his hand. He padded over his greatcoat, until he found it.  
"Ah, but it has been traveling," Moerchen noted, raising his finger to emphasize his point; the Lady Inquisitor quickly realized what he was implying. "Someone has the ability to contain its power without adding further bindings. I heavily recommend looking further into this."  
The Korpsman clutched the crinkled holo, staring at the woman's soft beauty. Little did he realize the Lady Inquisitor and her friends were now watching him.  
Oblivious, Heidrich smiled. "Ersabet..." he whispered, gazing into the woman's cerulean eyes in the informal picture. "Thank you."


	2. Volume I Part 2

**I**  
**THE CALLING**

**2**  
**Bloodfall V, Hazeroth Sub**

"Shas'vre, new activity from the vessel."  
Shas'vre M'yen narrowed his red eyes; his mouth wrinkled into a frown. He turned to the sensor-operator. "What is it now?" he asked in Low Gothic - it was the Commander's policy to have his men speak in the Human language, so as to better interact... especially in situations like this one.  
"They're sending down a shuttle," the sensor-operator said, excitedly.  
"It's about time," M'yen hissed, hefting his pulse carbine as he stepped towards the airlock. "Get ready to check them," he said to the surrounding Fire Warriors, all clad in the same uniform of blue-gray and ruby. He was never easy about arms deals.  
After a few minutes of patient waiting, M'yen spied the sensor-operator grow anxious again. "They've landed! Picking up several individuals getting off... grouping suggests they've got heavy cargo."  
"That's our thrones gelt," M'yen soberly announced. "Open the airlock for them," he ordered, and was obeyed.  
Another minute passed before the sounds of the airlock repressurizing could be heard. "Be ready. I don't trust these people..."  
A few moments after, the door opened, and each of the Fire Warriors within the chamber trained their weapons on the airlock therein. Within was a thin human woman, the upper half of her body hidden under a short cloak; she stood at the fore of a group of men carrying large crates. With a source of fresh air available to them, they all removed the re-breathers they had worn outside.  
"Step inside, all of you," M'yen commanded. "Leave the boxes there."  
"You're under the suspicion that the crates contain weaponry for us to surprise you with," the woman noted; she knew she was spot-on from the Tau's reaction. "Cute paranoia."  
"Shut up," M'yen ordered. "Submit to our search."  
The woman sighed, and raised up her arms, pulling back the folds of her cloak - attached to her belt were numerous vials of a thick, red liquid: Human blood, M'yen realized.  
"What are those for?" the Shas'vre asked, pointing to her belt as the Fire Warriors began patting down the woman and her associates.  
"Medical," the woman deadpanned. "I need regular transfusions."  
M'yen grunted at this. He noticed markings on the woman's open palms - tattoos. Probably commemorative markings.  
"Sir." One of the Fire Warriors produced a handgun from a holster on the woman's backside.  
M'yen frowned, then looked back to the woman. "The deal was that you come down unarmed," he said, his rising irritation becoming clearer with each word he spoke.  
"Forgive us for being cautious," the woman calmly said.  
"We are nothing but cautious!" M'yen snapped, taking several steps forward. "Ten generations did mine and my Commander's force spend traveling the warp, as you call it, to bring the Greater Good to this distant place, and for another ten generations have these warriors fought in the shadows of this region of space, to break the will of the resistors!" He raised his hands up, indicating the entire number of the Fire Warriors present.  
"I did not mean to bring offense."  
"Your very refusal to accept the Greater Good is an offense. Your entire existence is an offense."  
M'yen looked to a Fire Warrior as he cracked open one of the crates. The Fire Warrior animatedly turned to his captain. "The money's all here!" he said in his native tongue.  
M'yen turned again to the humans. "Kill the others," he commanded, not taking his eyes off the woman. The Fire Warriors obeyed M'yen's order, shooting the woman's associates; each dropped to the floor, sizzling, creating a foul odor on the air which made the helmetless M'yen's face twist into an expression of revulsion. He smacked his lips for a moment, before slipping his free hand behind his back, pulse carbine carefully aimed away. "I know you... I understand your master is very fond of you. I think I like the idea of keeping you for ransom."  
"My master will crush you like a bug," the woman tranquilly assured him as two Fire Warriors put their guns to her back.  
"No, he won't."  
The two stared at one-another... then the woman smiled. "No. No, you're right, he won't. Because, he won't be able to." She clenched her left hand, digging her long fingernails into her palm.  
M'yen began to chuckle. "That's an odd boast!"  
A droplet of the woman's blood hit the floor; even before it splattered, a circular hole appeared in the floor, directly beneath the woman, and she fell through, leaving the Tau shocked; the same instant she was gone, the hole disappeared.  
"What sort of illusion is this?" M'yen cried, hastily scanning the room with his carbine at the ready.  
A Fire Warrior behind him cried out in agony, pulling M'yen's attention - the Tau convulsed violently, arcs of electricity connecting his body to the human woman, who had reappeared atop a pile of equipment cases. As her victim collapsed, the other xenos opened fire, confusedly shouting directions and orders between one-another. The human bent herself back then launched into the air, rolling for a moment before landing on her hands; as she did so, she held one open palm out towards the Fire Warriors, and several of the heavy boxes around her shot out of the mass, smashing against the Tau.  
"Kill her! Kill her!" M'yen shouted, furiously spraying his target with his carbine's plasmafire - all to no effect as the woman mockingly dodged his and his team's efforts with astounding grace.  
As the woman performed another aerial, she reached outside her spin, and the pulse rifle of one of the dead Fire Warriors slipped from its owner's cold grip and rocketed towards her, planting itself firmly in her hands as she landed on her feet - she began firing that same instant while she began to cartwheel to the side, cutting down two Tau, and sheering away Shas'vre M'yen's leg beneath the knee. The remaining Fire Warriors, now attempting to flee the chamber in the wake of this goddess of battle, died with pulses against their backs.  
Shas'vre M'yen, broken against the floor, attempted to raise himself off the ground. The woman calmly stepped over to him, and rolled him over onto his back with her boot. "You... won't get away with this... this... this thievery! This... villainy!"  
"What are you talking about?" the woman coldly responded. She pressed the heated mouth of the pulse rifle she held against M'yen's forehead, and he screamed in agony at the branding heat. "It was you that dared attempt to trifle me in the first place." She pulled the trigger, and in an instant the boiling gore that had been M'yen's head spattered across the ground and the woman's leather leggings.  
The woman dropped the weapon, and looked down at the palm of her left hand: The tattoo was gone, leaving behind an open wound of the sort she was used to, within which flesh bubbled and sputtered in a pattern identical to the shape which had once been marked upon it.  
She reached back with her right hand, and retrieved a bottle of counterseptic. She twisted the cap off between her fingers, and then poured the liquid onto her left hand, biting through the sting. As she shook the excess off, she reached back again, putting away the counterseptic and taking out a ream of bandaging, which she immediately applied to her hand.  
She slid a hand into her pocket, and pulled out her vox. She flipped it open and thumbed a number out on it; she held it to her ear with her now-wrapped left hand while she approached the corpse of the Fire Warrior who had taken her pistol.  
"You're late," a deep, powerful voice growled on the line. "Did the deal go through?"  
"Things went sour. The idiot fish-faces thought they could hold me captive to get some ransom out of you," the woman said as she plucked her weapon up from the floor.  
"Then they're all dead."  
"Yes," the woman looked over the room, over the equipment she had just obtained, free of charge. "Though I have a feeling Shas'el Var'ur is going to be bothering us for a while because of this."  
"He is nothing. If he attempts to cross us again, he won't stand an instant."  
"Of course," the woman stepped over to the sealed crates that would have been bought in the transaction. She undid the latches on them, and was pleased to find the promised weapons within. "Everything's here. They were going to give us the weapons. It looks like this wasn't Var'ur's plan."  
"Nevertheless, our business with him is done. Get the crates and our money loaded back onto the lander. Get back up here."  
"Very well. I'm going to need another team to help me, though. The ones here have all been shot."  
"I see... I'll send others down. Fine work nevertheless, Losa."  
"Thank you, Master."


	3. Volume I Part 3

**I**  
**THE CALLING**

**3**  
**Hilarion, Hazeroth Sub**

Hilarion was a place familiar to the Lady Inquisitor. She had often found her way there, on the edge of Calixis, over the course of her life: Numerous brief missions under her teacher, Inquisitor Sobek, had taken her to Hilarion's lush fields, generally dealing with the anachronistic shipments of proscribed xeno-artifacts.  
There was a certain quaintness about Hilarion that the Lady Inquisitor found she loved so dearly; the opportunities to go there always became extended stays following whatever immediate business had first drawn her.  
This time, the Lady had come to Hilarion to resupply her vessel, the _Valkyrie._ The year spent endlessly chasing the daemonhost Iraktalh to and from his many lairs had taken a significant toll on the light cruiser's stores.  
While his Inquisitor took to the surface to make arrangements for refreshed provisions, Captain Antoniv Rados watched over the routine on the bridge. The momentary lapse of activity which came with the changing of the personnel shift was setting in - it was always a period of brief relaxation for him as well, lest someone be unfortunate enough to make the mistake of appearing late for their work schedule.  
The vox transmitter attached to the back of Antoniv's head chimed. He tapped on its earpiece, simultaneously summoning his throne from behind him with his control wand in. "Captain speaking," he said, sitting back in his seat; he pressed a rune on his control wand again, and his throne slid back into its former position against the wall.  
"Ant, it's me," the Lady Inquisitor declared over the line. "Several supply ferries are coming up now. They've got the handshake codes, so you know the drill."  
"Yes, my Lady," Rados said, watching as a colossal ship, one which dwarfed the _Valkyrie_ by several magnitudes, passed by to starboard, blotting out the Captain's view of the planet. His First Mate Dusan was clearly impressed by the sight.  
"They'll be shuttling back and forth for probably a good couple days, and I'll be staying on the surface, so let the men go on shore-leave schedule," the Lady Inquisitor explained.  
"Of course," Rados cheerily answered. "I'll see you aboard when everything's done, my Lady."  
"See you."  
"Incredible," Dusan breathed, watching as the last kilometer of the captivating ship slid past.  
"A superfreighter," Rados noted, drawing his First Mate's attention. "They were commissioned a long while ago on the order of the Sector Governor, for the fact that they're capable of carrying much more supplies than any common transport." In reality, Rados considered them atrocious, bloated and misshapen. The only impressive thing about the designs had been their size: Lord Governor Hax's mad predecessors had specified no shorter than ten kilometers; the one which had just passed must have exceeded fourteen kilometers in length.  
"Come, we have work to do right now, boy," Rados said, sitting back. He looked over at Dusan and grinned. "And, I hope you're ready to lose in tonight's Regicide tournament."  
First Mate Dusan gave his Captain a sheepish smile, and inwardly dreaded his fortunes.

As he came upon a marble bench, Heidrich slowed the pace of his jog, until it was no more than a trot; there was not a soul present, save the occasional sight of a security guard or a servitor, as the Lady Inquisitor had booked the lodge to be empty, save her company. Lightly panting in the heat, he sat down, and ran a hand over his face, sweeping back his bangs - he had been letting his dark brown hair grow out. He had been familiar with the idea for years, but had never done anything with it, due to the regulations of the Imperial Guard. The Lady Inquisitor had been the one to make the suggestion that he wear his hair differently, "because you can," she had said. In fact, the idea of taking a jog around the lodging had been her suggestion as well.  
The concept of personal freedom was still rather alien on the Guardsman's mind. He realized he was awkward around other people, due to an only newly-broken habit of only ever moving, talking, or eating if prompted. When the Lady Inquisitor had told him to find some way to conceal a stubgun on his person, he had been utterly mortified at the thought: Korps protocol forbid concealed weaponry. The more he heard about the details of his new career, the more he feared he was unfit for it.  
Yet the Lady Inquisitor seemed to disagree.  
A wheeled servitor pushing a refreshment cart approached Heidrich while he got up from his rest. "Would you like something to drink, Master?" the enslaved machine asked in a monotone voice.  
Master. Now that was a word he had never been addressed by. "No, thank you," Heidrich responded, almost as flatly as the servitor; the machine, want of some other task, stood there dumbly for a moment.  
Heidrich looked off further down the lawn, getting a bearing on his location; he was near where the Lady Inquisitor was relaxing. "Best go check up..." he said to himself, and with the servitor watching him part, he returned to his jog.

"This is a most inopportune time for an Inquisitor to appear."  
As the Adept built up the courage to speak again, the only sound in the room came from his Master's metallic fingertips, tapping against the arm of his seat.  
"I understand you are... concerned... that she would come here just after your own arrival," he paused, fearful of the lack of new activity from the being he spoke to, until he decided it was safe to continue, "but I assure you, my Lord, that there is no possible way she could know you're present here on Hilarion."  
"She knows," the Master declared, in that deep voice which shook the Adept to his core. "She definitely knows."  
The Adept could hear the sculpted glass of the chair's arm crack as his Master tightened his grip upon it. The room was silent again for a moment; the Adept peered forward, seeking to look through the veil which was cast by the holoscreen wall displaying sensory data from the servitors under the Master's servitude.  
"There's been a leak somewhere. I'll have to find it," the Master said.  
"What would you have me do?" the Adept timidly asked; the Master was then silent again - pondering, the Adept assumed.  
"Commence transferal of all data in this facility to the caches aboard the _Angrboedha,_ along with all artifacts and equipment. Once that's complete, destroy all the cogitator towers, and prepare for demolition."  
"But sir! We've invested several million thrones in this facility! Are you truly certain you wish to do this?" Several of the holoscreens parted, revealing the Master's face; the stare the Adept received for this made him regret speaking. In retribution, he bowed. "I shall begin the clean-up procedure at-once," he said, and scurried out.  
Once the Adept had left, The Master shifted in his chair. "Have him lobotomized and turned into a murder-servitor once he gets aboard the _Angrboedha._ The same goes for all of the researchers from this facility."  
Losa Proga stepped up beside her Master's throne. "Yes, Lord." She looked again to the faces displayed on the holoscreens. "Shall I send the Goleph after them?"  
"No. Not yet," The Master said. "We shall commence with that only after we have moved off all data."  
"You don't honestly think she knows, do you?" Losa asked.  
The Master responded to this with a deep chuckle. "Of course not, my dear. I just like the opportunity to kill an Inquisitor." Losa watched as he stood up; the folds of his cameleoline cloak slid about his tall form, hiding the inhumanity of it all. "Let us go now. Instruct the Technomancers to set the Goleph loose as soon as everything is moved to the _Angrboedha._ I think it also might prove terrific for the servitors in the lodge to become unwelcoming to their guests as well." The Master began to descend from his throne, causing one of the holoscreens to temporarily distort as he passed through it.  
Losa's attention was caught by one, which showed the woman, the Inquisitor, whose face she had not yet looked upon; she realized she recognized this Inquisitor.  
Losa turned again to her Master. "Wait!" she quickly said, and he stopped in his steps. "This woman! She's the Inquisitor who killed Iraktalh!"  
The Master turned again to his servant. "Is she?" He let out a low growl of acknowledgment, and turned away. "Then perhaps she is indeed on to me. Make sure the procedure is done with as quickly as possible."  
Losa Proga bowed as her Master trotted out. "It shall be so, my Lord."

"Would you care for a refreshment, Mamzel?" the servitor asked a second time.  
"No, thanks," the Lady Inquisitor said once more, not looking up from her book.  
"Would you care for a refreshment, Mamzel?" the servitor repeated.  
"No, thank you," the Lady Inquisitor answered again, growing further irritated. "Now please, leave me be."  
The servitor stood there dumbly for a few seconds; then, as though it had suddenly recalled itself, it turned and rolled away with its refreshment cart.  
The Lady Inquisitor watched as the machine slipped back within the main hall of the lodge. "Good riddance," she sighed, and returned to her reading.  
Fiction had recently provided a fresh escape from the droning of the encroaching boredom of the Lady Inquisitor's daily life; the Astropath aboard the _Valkyrie_ continued to receive waves of reports from other Inquisitors, requests for reports on past and ongoing cases, and the obnoxious number of courtship letters from pretentious nobles across Calixis. Among the countless propaganda tales of dashing Imperial Guard Generals leading from the front were a few attractive titles revolving around tragic casts. Her present selection, _Waltor's Trail_, followed a Rogue Trader's descent into greed. How it was that works such as this managed to make it past censors, the Lady Inquisitor did not know, but they certainly gave her a pass-time.  
As she examined Captain Sarn's vow to discover his missing father's fate, she heard Heidrich approach; the sound of his footfall was easily recognizable with the loose march by which he moved about.  
"How was your jog, then?" She distractedly asked, not taking her eyes off her page.  
Stopping beside the Lady Inquisitor's chair, Heidrich paused for a moment before speaking. "Fine."  
Content with stopping as Captain Sarn began to choke a Stryxis bearing information he needed, the Lady Inquisitor closed her book, and looked up at the Korpsman. "Was there something you needed?"  
Heidrich initially began to speak, only to stop himself before he could complete a first syllable; the Lady Inquisitor smiled at his child-like demeanor. "I wanted to say… thank you. Thanks again."  
"What for?" The Lady Inquisitor happily asked, knowing already what the Korpsman was going to say – he had been saying it several times over the course of the last few months since he had snapped out of his delirium.  
"For giving me this chance. You really saved me back on Trojus. If you hadn't taken me in, I'd probably be dead right now… by my own hand, perhaps."  
"You would have killed yourself?" This had been the first comment of this sort the Lady had heard.  
"I was in a real pit of despair. I knew everyone was watching, searching for a reason to do me in... before you brought me aboard, I was content to simply do them the favor. Most I was able to do for them."  
"Oh, don't be so dramatic," the Lady Inquisitor said, surprising Heidrich with her response. "You're not nearly as much of a weakling as you say you are. You're a tough man, you've got skills…"  
"I understand," Heidrich flatly said with a nod. "I'm grateful that you pulled me out of that. You've given me an opportunity, and I intend to repay you in-full for it." After this, he was quiet again; the Lady Inquisitor almost took it as a chance to begin reading again. "Might I ask you?..."  
"Hm?" The Lady Inquisitor turned her head again to him.  
"What would you have done, had I not passed the tests you had put me to?"  
"Come, you don't need to worry about that," the Lady Inquisitor assured him. "It's in the past now. You're not some weakling."  
Realizing she would not give him an answer, Heidrich admitted defeat. "I see," he said, taking a step back. "I'm going to go jog another lap."  
"While you're off," the Lady Inquisitor began to speak, opening up _Waltor's Trail,_ "try to think of something for a surname. You're not the only Heidrich out there."  
Heidrich gently grinned at this. "Yes Mam," he said, and ran off.

Weaving through packets of harried tech-adepts, each frenziedly pushing towards an impossible deadline, Losa Proga strode closer and closer to her destination: A well-avoided sector deep within the winding corridors of the facility; were the knowledge of its occupants not enough to discourage proximity, the brutal sigil which had been painted across the airlock entry-door was sufficient to ward off any of the lesser peons.  
Losa announced the binary pattern which served as the audio-lock for this wing, and the entry-door parted open with a hiss of more than simply steam. Her entry garnered the attention of a handful of the black-robed occupants, who prepared their foul works for transferal at a far calmer pace than those pitiful adepts who roamed the distant halls.  
"Magos!" the intruder amongst these priests of the Machine called out; her voice was answered when a figure taller and more cumbersome than the lanky subjects appeared.  
Tied to life-support mechanisms of obscene origin, standing at least three meters tall, with all of her biomechanical mass shrouded under layers of cloth displaying her sect's colors, Magos Lunelle Sevanar had completely abandoned all traces of femininity, let alone humanity. A pair of extensively altered, flesh-wrapped mockeries of arms protruded from the holes in the wrappings around her malformed frame, serving as the only reminder that this thing had ever once been human; numerous hydraulic appendages akin to those of a spider supported her body where her primary legs could not; extending manipulator arms protracted from her 'chest' to carry and operate on her works. Losa shivered as Sevanar turned her long optical center, its front bearing the pinned-on flesh visage of a human woman.  
The Master's body had been constructed to be frightening; Sevanar, on the other hand, struck fear in Losa Proga by mere convenience. "Magos, will you be prepared to leave when we give the order?"  
The tall creature slowly bobbed its optical center, mimicking the movements of a head.  
"Then... may I make an inspection?" Losa asked, hiding her anxiety.  
The Magos nodded again, and slowly turned away; Losa followed after as Sevanar lead her further into her temple, through throngs of tech-apostles preparing their art for transport with the reverent care parents had for their children.  
Soon, the Magos brought Losa to where she knew her guest wished to be, deep in the zone where Sevanar's disciples slavered away at the production of new weapons for the Master. The two gazed up at the great stasis tank which hung just ahead of them; within, suspended from innumerable instructor-cables and vitalizers, the jagged figure of an inhuman killer remained motionless in its suspension.  
Losa narrowed her eyes, and took a step closer; the Goleph immediately announced its liveliness in the only fashion it knew how - by smashing its spiked head against the thick glass of its prison.  
As Losa recoiled, the Magos pulled her back by the collar of her coat, and pointed to the Technomancer operating the creature's Key. The Technomancer caught eye of his lord's wordless instruction, and pressed one of the sigils on the Key's console; the Goleph reacted to this with a series of horrifically agonized convulsions.  
A further wave of the Magos's hand, and the Technomancer ceased the pain-delivering function. He mumbled a series of prayer-formulae, and then returned to observing the operation of his diagnostics.  
Losa glanced at the Goleph, and then back to the Magos, not daring to gaze directly at the Tech-Lord's 'face.' "This will be ready, then?" She asked; she was responded to by another nod.  
"Then how will it be deployed?" Losa asked. "I know that if you let it loose in here, it won't find its way to its destination. Won't you require someone to deliver it, and then let it loose?"  
Sevanar did not respond.  
"Magos," Losa sighed, "I understand your aversions, but you need to tell me. I need to know your plans."  
A light series of squeals came from Sevanar's disused vox, until its retuning had fostered a gentle voice unworthy of the abomination which used it. "Two servitors with melta detonators attached will deliver its container," the Magos explained. "When they arrive, they will let it loose, and a few minutes after the Goleph leaves their proximity their detonators will go off."  
"So there will not be any evidence, save the Goleph itself... that can be fixed."  
The Magos nodded. "Are you pleased?"  
"Yes," Losa said, and turned away. "Have it ready to launch in a few hours."  
As her guest left, Magos Sevanar looked to the caged Goleph, struggling against its restraints.

A knock at her door stirred the Lady Inquisitor from her reading. Undoubtedly, she knew it was Heidrich, whose offer to stand watch over her room she had already turned down.  
She slipped on her nightdress, and went to answer. Another knock exemplified the Korpsman's concern. "Patience, boy patience!" She called as she opened the door.  
Heidrich stood in the doorway, as evidently nervous as he always was around her. "I'm sorry to bother you again, In- Mamzel... I just wished to make sure you were fine before I went to sleep myself."  
"You have nothing to worry about," the Lady Inquisitor told him. "The only people in this lodge who know who I am are the proprietor and his personal staff, all of whom already work for the Inquisition. None of the common-folk working here know my identity, nor does anyone outside the lodge. I'm not going to be assassinated."  
Heidrich sighed. "Yes, of course."  
"Lamortes is down in the proprietary offices gathering report data from the various agencies here on Hilarion. The lodge security is paying close attention to make sure nobody comes jumping through my window, or sneaking down this hallway. If they detect any threat, you, I, and Lamortes will all be alerted and then you can come be my hero."  
Heidrich laughed at this. "I understand, Mamzel."  
"Go get some sleep, kiddo," the Lady Inquisitor said, patting Heidrich on the shoulder, and closed her door.  
As Heidrich contentedly returned to his room on the other side of the hall, he caught eye of a pair of servitors rolling down the hall; curious, he lingered outside his door to watch them.  
"Would you care for an appetizer, Master?" The two asked him in unison as they approached, in spite of the hour, and in spite of the fact that they both lacked victual carts.  
Uncertain what to make of this, Heidrich cautiously slid his hand over the door handle. "No, thank you. It's late," he said, but the servitors did not relent.  
"Would you care for an appetizer, Master?" They repeated.  
"No, no, I said-" Heidrich quickly dodged as the one closest to him extended out its arm and grabbed at him with an augmetic hand; as Heidrich slipped to the side, the other punched him with such incredible strength that it knocked him on his back. He got back to his feet; the closer servitor attempted to deliver a second blow, but Heidrich slipped aside, and kicked it across the face - rather uselessly, as the only effect this had was to temporarily turn its head away from him.  
"My Lady!" he shouted as the servitor charged him, succeeding in grappling him.

A peculiarity arose in the midst of the data Lamortes was sorting through.  
A number of shuttles had been transferring cargo to the superfreighter _Emperor's Dawn,_ registered to the Turas-Hie Amalgamation, though the freight contents were listed as "empty boxes." Curious, Lamortes had cut into the security pict-feed from the port the majority of the shuttle fleet was taking off from, to find the loading crews struggling with the "empty" boxes.  
Furthermore, the crew at the nearby Turas-Hie facility had also begun boarding the _Emperor's Dawn._ In examination of this, Lamortes had looked into the facility, only to find it was flagged as unsafe for entry due to a leak of explosive contaminants.  
If that was not a cover-up, then Lamortes did not know what was. Of course, nobody over at the Administratum would even notice the numerous inconsistencies in what was evidently the face-story for a very hasty closing on some lucrative business.  
More xeno-weapon traders, Lamortes suspected. Though, the fact they had acquired a superfreighter was distressing; even moreso was the fact that they were operating under the name of the Turas-Hie Amalgamation, which had held outstanding piety standards for centuries.  
Lamortes took out his personal vox, and dialed the call-channel for Rados aboard the _Valkyrie._  
"Captain speaking."  
"Antoniv, this is Max. I think we've found a dealer of illicit objects."  
"Really? What do you need me to do?"  
"Could you call the Navy station here and get a crew to look aboard the superfreighter _Emperor's Dawn?_ Tell them to be on the look-out for materials of xenos origin."  
"Shit, you mean that beast that I've been seeing flying around the last several hours? I'll see what I can do."  
"Splendid. Do be helpful to the Navy."  
"I will. Captain out."  
Lamortes put the vox away again. As he began to delve further into this mystery, a loud clatter, and a number of shouts from the cramped security room behind him brought him to his feet.  
He peered in from the doorway, finding two of the guards therein struggling with the combat servitor which had been previously docked with its recharge station in the corner, with a third guard was on the floor beneath a now-misshapen file cabinet; all of the monitoring equipment had been smashed by the servitor.  
Lamortes produced a laspistol from his robes, and fired into the servitor - no damage that could not be repaired, as it fell limp with a chunk missing from the metal casing of its head.  
"What in the name of Him on High happened?" Lamortes shouted as he hid his laspistol again.  
"I don't know, it just attacked Tores!" One guard cried, pointing to the guard against the cabinet.  
Lamortes looked down at Tores, and frowned. He turned and looked back to the door in the room he had been working from. "Check the boy," he quickly said as he rushed out, "I need to go ensure my Lady is safe!"

The Lady Inquisitor hurriedly opened her door, and gasped at the sight: Her retainer was on the floor wrestling with a pair of servitors.  
Heidrich glanced over at her as he pushed one of the cyborgs off, only for the other to grab for his neck. "A weapon! Quickly!" he howled, frantically pushing back a snapping augmetic hand.  
"What did you do?" the Lady Inquisitor shouted as she returned to her room.  
"I have no idea!" Heidrich yelled. "They kept offering me food and started punching me!"  
The Lady quickly opened up her bags, hurriedly searching, searching...  
"Aha!" She happily cheered as she found the case of her faithful weapon, _Impavidus,_ hidden a valise; as she pulled the plasma pistol out of storage, she was swatted against her bed by one of the two servitors.  
The cyborg attempted to lunge for her again, but the Lady Inquisitor brought _Impavidus_ to bear, and incinerated the servitor's head with a blast of superheated gas which scorched the wall behind it.  
While the servitor slumped over, the Lady Inqusitor rushed back out to the hallway, and fired off another, carefully-aimed shot from _Impavidus_ at the servitor attempting to strangle Heidrich, pushing the heavy machine over on its side, and burning away its flesh.  
Heidrich brought himself to his feet, coughing, and rubbing at his sore neck. "Thanks," he wheezed.  
"You're supposed to be the one protecting me, not the other way around!" The Lady Inquisitor cracked. "And another thing! When they offer you food, don't refuse, because it clearly offends them! Now go get your own weapons, we need to see what's going on."  
Heidrich nodded, resisting the urge to laugh, as it would hurt too much. "Get some proper clothes on," he said, and hurried back into his room.  
"Hey! You have no right to order me around, kiddo!"  
Heidrich ignored this as he opened up the bag he had put his weapons in. He first took out his cherished Lucius-pattern lasgun, which had not seen any action since his time in the Death Korps; slinging it over his shoulder, he then retrieved the stub revolver he had received from the _Valkyrie's_ munitorum, pocketing a fistful of bullets as well.  
He stepped out again, loading the heavy rounds into the revolver; the Lady Inquisitor had returned to her room. "Mamzel?" he called to her.  
"One moment!" The Lady replied, and a few seconds later, exited in what appeared to be civilian clothes, carrying her plasma pistol and a power blade. "Sorry, but I didn't pack for battle."  
"You brought your plasma pistol, of all things. And that power knife," Heidrich commented as they set off. "I thought I was supposed to be the one bringing the weapons?"  
"Of course." The Lady Inquisitor shrugged. "But I've learned to be cautious."  
"Is that why you want to carry high-power weapons as we go down to the proprietor's office?"  
The Lady Inquisitor stopped suddenly, and motioned for Heidrich to be quiet. "You hear that? People are shouting. Fighting, it sounds like. All over the place," she said. "There is a problem. So yes, I think I'm rather justified."

As personnel rushed back and forth, shouting to one-another, hunting down weapons, nobody noticed the pair of servitors entering the front gate, dragging an ornate coffin on a cart behind them.  
Only when they were at the very entrance did a confused guard bother to shoot them, toppling both of the dumb cyborgs. Curious, the guard approached their luggage; he gently lifted the lid of the coffin. As he did so, a long, glowing blade shot out from within, impaling him. It cut itself free, leaving the guard nearly sawed in two.  
With the guard quivering in his death throes on the pavement, the machine rose up from its container, and turned its head to the lodge. Its commands freshened themselves upon its mind:  
_Kill._  
The machine dashed forward, leaping into the building through one of the front windows, surprising two guards arming themselves with shotguns; it cut one down before he could react, and as the other raised her weapon, the machine cut her arm off, and dug its bladed forearm into the side of her skull, killing her.  
_Kill._  
The machine lifted its spike-covered head to the ceiling, scanning the vibrations of the air: Gunfire on the immediate ground level, footprints from the next floor, and low voices a story above that. The machine prioritized the ground floor first, and so set out to fulfill its cursed command...

Lamortes turned a corner, putting a round into a servitor as it turned towards him, before continuing on. Further down this hall, a pair of guards were opening fire on a pack of the rogue machines coming from the hall.  
The Tech-Priest stopped another guard as he came running from within a door to the lower levels. "You! Why are there so many servitors here?"  
"Not now, sir-"  
"Tell me! I'm with the Inquisition!" Lamortes snapped, revealing the Lady Inquisitor's rosette.  
The man wailed in terror at the symbol. "We've got a genetorium down in the under-levels, with a lot of servitors working the stations down there!"  
"So all of these are pouring out from downstairs?"  
"Yes! We're trying to get some additional security down there to deal with the vast majority of them, but to make matters worse the tech-adepts working the systems are all dead! There's nobody to regulate everything, and if the genetorium blows, it'll probably collapse the whole building, set the gas lines on fire, and blow up whatever's left!"  
"I imagine it would, young sir!" Lamortes shouted. "Do I look like I wouldn't realize that?"  
The wall collapsed beside the two guards further along. As the debris settled, the two guards, caught in a plume of dust, cried out as blood sprayed across the ground; a severed hand shot from the mess, landing at Lamortes' feet. His one eye went wide, and his mouth gaped at what had killed them, its sharp, pointed body now clear in the rubble.  
"A Goleph!" Lamortes shrieked. He began to unsteadily back away, before turning and completely breaking into a sprint. "By the Gears of Mars! A Goleph!"  
The bloody murder-machine's head swung to the source of the noise; the guard, unsure of what he was seeing, began firing at it. Not a single shot hit its target as the Goleph leapt from place to place, closing on him, until it was directly atop him.  
Lamortes, now hurrying upstairs, could hear the guard's screams as he escaped the death-engine's vicinity.

Losa watched her Master as he stared into the holoscreens of the Navy frigate, _Hammer of the Justicar_ coming up along the portside; close behind it was a cruiser... the Inquisitor's light cruiser.  
He growled, and pressed one of the runes upon his display. "Prepare the portside Nova Cannon for a detonation distance of six-hundred and eighty kilometers. And, be ready for inertial compensation. After we've destroyed the frigate, punch through the hole we've put in the merchant lanes. Don't worry about maneuvering."  
"Aye, Master," the Bridgemaster acknowledged, and switched his voice over to the ship-wide vox. "All crew, brace for cannon-fire."  
The Master growled in satisfaction, interlacing his metal fingers, staring constantly at the image of the ship coming to dock. "The _Angrboedha_ has never been properly tested. What a grand opportunity."  
"We won't hit the cruiser," Losa noted.  
"We don't need to," her Master responded. "We're going to destroy at least fifteen charter vessels and three Rogue Traders, as well as a pleasure barge bearing several planetary officials and assorted Sector nobility. We're going to pit this world in turmoil."  
"Forty seconds to Nova discharge..."

Captain Rados sat back in his seat, staring out at the gigantic freighter through the starboard panes. There was little the unarmed ship could do to challenge the _Valkyrie's_ weapons batteries, yet experience had taught him never to take any support assignment lightly. Service with the Inquisition had taught him never to take a smuggler-bust lightly, either.  
"Honored Captain..."  
Rados turned to greet the Chaplain as he approached - poor Moerchen had been left behind to avoid drawing attention. "Ah, my Lord. How may I be of service to you?"  
The old Space Marine gazed out at the _Emperor's Dawn,_ then looked back at Rados. "Yes, I came to ask if we had heard recently from the Inquisitor."  
"Not from the Lady specifically. Though, Magos Lamortes called upon me a short while ago," Rados gestured up at the superfreighter. "He wanted us to have the Navy look into a possible proscription evasion. Hence, we're watching over that thing right now."  
"I see..."  
"Captain!" The auspex operator shouted. "The _Emperor's Dawn_ is powering up her engines, and the array's picking up severe electromagnetic interference from the her portside!"  
Rados looked over at his vox operator. "Alert the bridge of the _Emperor's Dawn_ that if she attempts to run we'll put a dozen torpedoes in her."

"The Nova Cannon's magnetic field has reached full-charge, Master."  
The Master sat motionless for a moment; Losa realized he was likely savoring the feeling of power, but she took the opportunity to brace herself against the edge of his throne.  
"Fire."

"They're not responding, Captain."  
"Their thrusters are alight, Captain!"  
Rados opened his mouth to respond, but found himself unable to speak:  
For a fraction of a second, a searing light cut through the numerous plates across the side of the _Emperor's Dawn;_ she sharply lurched backwards like a cannon, and then, within an instant, a massive section of her hull rent open, spraying debris across the void; every bulky segment of the _Emperor's Dawn's_ portside had suffered the same fate.  
The _Hammer of the Justicar_ had vanished in a ball of fire.  
"By the Emperor!" Moerchen exclaimed, staring out at the _Emperor's Dawn._ "It's exploding from within!"  
"That's no explosion!" Rados snapped. "Raise void shields, fire the engines to maximum thrust!" he bellowed, striding to the edge of his platform. "Bring us to bear alongside the _Emperor's Dawn,_ don't let them get away from us!"

The Lady Inquisitor stopped again as she and her lone Acolyte came to a stairwell; the familiar ringing of gunfire had ceased. "Brilliant. The security is being overwhelmed by dumb machines."  
"Are servitors particularly prone to this?" Heidrich asked.  
"No. This is the first time I've ever heard of this happening. This was sabotage," she looked up at him, and a smirk crossed her lips. "Looks like you were right to worry about me."  
Heidrich laughed; as he hefted his lasgun again, however, a long, electrified blade tore up through the floor between them. While the Lady Inquisitor and the Korpsman stepped away, the Goleph pushed its head through. It turned its head to the Lady Inquisitor as it pulled its legs up, and raised its long armblade at her, only to be knocked back by a blast of plasmafire from which it did not get back up.  
Unamused, the Lady Inquisitor stared at its inanimate body, and snorted. "Damn thing thought I would be too scared to shoot," she said, grinning to Heidrich.  
A slit opened in the Goleph's chest, and a puny, razor-edged disk shot out, piercing through the Lady Inquisitor's leg; she cried out, and dropped to the floor, clutching the wound.  
Heidrich, shocked, initially failed to do anything; the Goleph took the opportunity to kick the Lady Inquisitor over, so violently that it rendered her unconscious, before turning then to the Korpsman. Snapping out of his terror, Heidrich fired his lasgun into it, causing the machine to lurch back as shots melted through its bronze armor, exposing blasphemous mechanisms.  
A sweep of the Goleph's blade cut Heidrich's weapon in two, and as he reached back to pull out his pistol, the murderous engine kicked him in the chest, leaving him breathless and sprawled across the floor in the middle of the hallway; his revolver skipped across the floor, landing just out of his reach.  
Smoke still rising from its faceplate, the Goleph stepped over Heidrich, and slowly began to press its foot down against his ribcage; the Korpsman was too windless to even scream. Suddenly impatient, the Goleph raised its foot.  
A blink of lasfire tore away whatever casing had remained on its chest - both the machine and Heidrich turned their heads to the far end of the intersecting corridor, down which Lamortes was charging with his laspistol in-hand.  
The Goleph turned its torso to him, and sprayed a number of its monoblades at him; each one hit their target, and Lamortes fell on his back.  
The killer machine turned again to Heidrich, who had taken the opportunity to retrieve his stub revolver. Before the Goleph could swing its arms, the Korpsman fired off several rounds into its chest.  
For a moment, the Goleph stood in place, spasming with fiendish vitality; as the seizure worsened, it fell forward, just as Heidrich rolled out from under it.  
The Korpsman deeply exhaled as he looked at the body - the pointed head had implanted itself in the floor.  
Quickly realizing himself, he got to his feet, and rushed to the Lady Inquisitor. "Mamzel! Mamzel!" he whispered as he shook her; she groaned in response. She was alive, at least. He pushed her onto her back, and found her clothing soak in the blood of her leg wound. "Oh, Throne!" he exclaimed, and tried to recall his medicae training.  
As he applied pressure to the wound, he failed to hear Lamortes approach. "Kind of you to check up on me," the Tech-Priest snapped.  
Heidrich flinched; he looked back at Lamortes, and gawked. "You- you're..."  
Lamortes looked down at the disks still embedded in his assorted body parts. "Oh please. You don't seriously think this could hurt me?" he said, beaming as he plucked the blades out. The Korpsman's shock amused him. "Get the Lady Inquisitor up. We need to leave right now."  
"She's out cold," Heidrich said. "And what was that?" He pointed to the Goleph.  
"Pick her up then and carry her out," Lamortes responded.  
"What was that?" Heidrich repeated, increasingly annoyed.  
Lamortes sighed, and looked at the dead machine. "A Goleph."  
"A Goleph?"  
"It's what happens when my peers drink enough machine oil to fry what logical capacity they have. It's a diabolically violent construct that seeks to murder everything in sight," the Tech-Priest explained. "Absolutely terrible. Certainly scared me off when I first saw it."  
"You ran?"  
"It's sentient, which is why it's so revered. Many members of the Priesthood wish to create an artificial man, a living machine," Lamortes continued, ignoring Heidrich's remark. "Its complexity means that only the most potently intelligent and potently crazy Machine Servant can build it," he looked back at Heidrich. "Now come on, we need to get going. Get the Lady Inquisitor and let's make like wing-rats."  
"Wait, can't we get our things? Is it really that bad?"  
"Did you have anything genuinely valuable in your luggage?" Lamortes asked.  
"No, I don't suppose-"  
"Then let's get out of here!" The Tech-Priest shouted. "The guards are all dead and the servitors are trying to destroy the lodge's genetorium! When that thing blows, this whole place will be a fireball!"  
Heidrich's eyes widened at this. He complied to the Tech-Priest and turned again to the Lady Inquisitor; as he reached to pick her up, however, she groaned.  
"I heard, I heard," she said, pushing herself up. Instinctively, she slapped her hand against her bleeding leg, holding the wound tight. "Bloody Throne, this hurts!"  
She took up her plasma pistol as Heidrich helped her to her feet. "Here, here, kiddo, put my power blade somewhere," she said, handing her acolyte the weapon. "Wouldn't want to leave that expensive piece of work behind."  
Heidrich nodded as he slipped the inactive weapon onto his belt with his free hand.  
The Lady Inquisitor laughed. "You get to be the hero now."  
"Perhaps you should wait until we're in the clear before you call me that," the Korpsman cracked.  
"I don't recommend going through the lobby," Lamortes said as Heidrich moved for the stairwell. "It'll be flooded with servitors."  
Heidrich looked around for an alternative. "Service stairway?" he suggested, pointing to a label off in the distance. "Doesn't that go down to the swimming pool? We can leave from there."  
"Brilliant, my boy," Lamortes said. He stepped over to the service stairway door, and opened it.  
As it turned out, the stairway was a ramp, and at the top incline were two wheeled servitors. Lamortes yelped, shot the two dead while another servitor rolled up; he closed the door, and looked to Heidrich and the Lady Inquisitor.  
"I'll assume that was a no-go?" The Lady wheezed.  
Lamortes quickly glanced about. "Here, here, the window." He strode over, and pulled open the sill; he looked down at the ground below, then looked back in at the Lady and Heidrich. "Here, I'll go through first, and you hand the Lady to me before jumping down yourself."  
"Wait," Heidrich said, pulling the Lady Inquisitor to the opening, "how far down is it?"  
"Oh, not too far," Lamortes said, putting his legs through the window, and slipping down; his landing was sounded by the screech of metal being shorn.  
Alarmed, Heidrich looked out through the window: Three stories down, Lamortes waved back up at him from atop what had been an air filter module. "Let her down!"  
"Are you crazy?" Heidrich cried down to him.  
"No, not particularly," Lamortes called back, smiling.  
"How did that not break your legs?"  
"He's a bit more durable than you think, kiddo," The Lady Inquisitor said, taking her arm off from around Heidrich's neck. Initially supporting herself against the wall, she pushed herself over to the window frame. She clenched her teeth as she applied just enough pressure to her wounded thigh to stand while she brought her other leg over the edge, then brought the injured one over too; she dropped down thereafter.  
Heidrich looked out as Lamortes helped the Lady Inquisitor to the ground; he looked back up again. "Okay! Your turn!"  
Heidrich looked back at the service stairwell door as several bangs came from the other side; he turned his focus back to the ground below, and sighed. He quickly slipped through the frame, and jumped.  
Lamortes caught him, and immediately put him down on his feet. "Come, come, we have to hurry!" he said, running off towards the front gate.  
"Just let me ride your back," the Lady Inquisitor told Heidrich, who complied, taking her legs in his hands and letting her lock her arms around his neck.  
"Terribly chivalrous of you to leave us behind, Max!" She yelled as the Korpsman began to run.  
"You're fine, my Lady!" The Tech-Priest shouted back; as he spoke, a cloud of flames flashed into existence in the courtyard before him.  
Lamortes' initial thought was that the lodge gas lines were going up; the style of the blast, however, was entirely different - it had been a melta blast, which only served to confuse him more.  
"What was that just now?" The Lady Inquisitor asked as Heidrich stepped up beside the Tech-Priest.  
"I'm not entirely sure, my Lady," Lamortes answered, and began running again, the Korpsman following close behind.  
The light fixtures around the front gate flickered as the group dashed through; a few minutes later, a series of explosions shook the foundation, before the entire building burst into flames.

The bow pict-feeds displayed a field of smoke where there had been, moments before, a column of starships; the ship status holoscreen noted that the _Angrboedha's_ thrusters were pressing beyond expected output. This pleased the Master.  
"That was truly a success," Losa said, steadying her posture. "Not even Battlefleet Calixis could defeat your flagship."  
The Master paid her praise no mind. "Keep the decoy hull attached until we're through the flotilla," he commanded, "I don't want to waste power with the shield array."  
"Aye, Master," the helmsman complied. "The cruiser is pursuing us, shall we fire the broadsides?"  
"Fire freely."

The _Valkyrie_ immediately gave chase, launching every armed torpedo at the _Emperor's Dawn_ as she picked up speed; each of the missiles hit their targets with no resistance, and while his bridge staff rejoiced at what would be a simple vengeance, Rados was quickly realizing the true nature of his enemy.  
A significant area of the _Emperor's Dawn_ was open to the void; however, a blast from a line of laser batteries buried deep within the hull pierced through the wreckage, smashing against the _Valkyrie's_ shields.  
The _Valkyrie_ returned this assault by rearing her dreaded dorsal plasma battery against the superfreighter; the damage wrought by the hellfire vaporized an entire mass from the side of the _Emperor's Dawn._  
The damage once again did not make any difference, as the superfreighter continued to push forward, breaking through the wreckage of what had once been several dozen vessels; numerous impacts uselessly pattered against the exterior of the _Emperor's Dawn,_ but the _Valkyrie_ was faring worse against the abuse - by the time they emerged from the field, the _Valkyrie's_ shields had nearly failed completely.

The Master rose from his seat. "Detach the decoy hull. Divert seventy-five percent power from propulsion, power the shields at one-fourth capacity and ready all portside batteries. These wretches will suffer for their insolence."  
"Aye, Master."

The _Valkyrie_ briefly cut all forward thrust, and then lightly turned towards the _Emperor's Dawn,_ firing a cutting beam from her prow-mounted lance, blasting off a mass of the superfreighter's hull...  
A far larger mass than it should have.  
The _Valkyrie_ narrowly dove under the debris, only to have to dodge another massive block of metal hurdling towards them. When the _Valkyrie_ pulled clear, the sight was truly horrific:  
The entire skin of the ship was peeling away, revealing some gruesome, serrated hull beneath. This lean new metamorphosis of the _Emperor's Dawn_ laughed at the _Valkyrie's_ attempts to punch through her newly-charged void shields, which held through a simultaneous barrage of torpedoes, lance-fire, macrocannon and plasma battery-fire.  
The _Angrboedha_ returned the _Valkyrie's_ cute lancing maneuver: Her forward-thrusters cut out, and she turned her entire broadside upon the _Valkyrie..._ and then she let slip all her macrocannons and laser batteries, overwhelming the light cruiser's shields in a torrent of firepower, and laying into its hull.

Nearly every station of the bridge had caught fire; the observation panes were cracking; life support was now failing; while numerous personnel fled, others desperately tried to quench the flames which were destroying their livelihood.  
Another impact, one which sprayed up debris from the top decks, dropped every crewman present to the floor.  
Not Moerchen. The Chaplain tightened his grip on his sacred crozius, and rushed to Captain Rados, who had crumpled against his throne. "It's time to abandon ship, Brother!" he said, taking the dazed man underarm.  
"Wait!" Rados cried, grasping at the edge of his seat. "I must do one last thing!" he said, freeing himself from the Space Marine's grip; he fell to the floor, but quickly rose again, only to fall once more as another direct hit rocked the _Valkyrie._ He persisted, however, and smashed his fist upon the console on his command throne - its screen slid away, revealing a keypad. Rados quickly typed a series of numbers into it, before collapsing again. "It is done. Leave me, Chaplain. Don't waste your life trying to save mine."  
"What thespian rubbish!" Moerchen growled as he scooped Rados up again, and hurried to the door behind the Captain's platform; the gate failed to open on his command, and so Moerchen rent a hole in it with the crozius, and then pried the door asunder, smashing through into the hall beyond it.

As the _Valkyrie's_ hull integrity collapsed, the _Angrboedha_ lowered her shields and threw all her power into her guns in the expectation that her foe was unable to do further battle.  
A lance beam which burned a gaping hole several hundred meters wide to port demonstrated how foolish this arrogance had been. Sullen, the _Angrboedha_ raised her shields again as the _Valkyrie_ began spitting all her armaments, drumming against the renewed defenses until the drifting cruiser's munitions servitors expired and her aim veered completely off-target.

Losa slipped back as her Master, furious, examined his vessel's status, checking for the damage locations - she knew her Master would likely kill the bridge crew if any of his cargo had been destroyed.  
Something else caught the Master's attention, however. His vox crackled and screeched as he roared out in fury, swinging his arms at the portside auspex alert of a squadron of Navy vessels approaching. Already, the entirety of them were opening upon the _Angrboedha_ with a volley of torpedoes.  
He quickly calmed himself down enough to concentrate, and opened again his vox channel to the bridge. "Half-power to shields. One-quarter to forward thrust, and power up the warp gate. Now!"  
"Aye, Master. Where shall the Navigators cast us?"  
"Home," The Master grunted as he sat back down. This time, Losa dared not speak.

Lifepods began parting with the _Valkyrie's_ burning, drifting hull as the _Angrboedha_ began to retreat; the Navy squadron gave chase, vain as such an action was.  
Every psychic mind upon the various warships cried in terror as reality collapsed; a great hole into the Empyrean was opened, through which passed the _Angrboedha,_ safely. The vessels unfortunate enough to be caught in the gate's wake, however, were torn apart in the hellish maelstrom.  
Thus the Navy was left in pandemonium, with a global crisis looming...

Hilarion boomed with activity the day after. Wreckage of various starships fell from orbit, destroying entire fields, killing thousands where it impacted in urban communities; panic broke quickly thereafter. The entire line of succession for several governing offices and Council seats had been wiped out in the initial attack of the _Emperor's Dawn._  
The Lady Inquisitor had put up in a hospice in a calmer region of the planet - the nearby Arbites precinct likely attributed to the tranquility.  
The _Valkyrie_ had been towed back into orbit by a group of frigates. The damage had been extensive - a good half of the external plating was missing, and nearly every deck had been without life support. A crew had to board and manually take the plasma drive offline to avoid a meltdown; the Lady Inquisitor had used her clout to have her staff's rooms aboard cleaned out as well. The recovered belongings were being shipped directly to the hospice. The _Valkyrie_ would be in high-orbit drydock for at least a year to repair the damage done.  
A significant portion of the crew had been killed as well. The entire bridge staff had escaped aboard lifepods, as well as a good ten thousand crewmen; another fifteen thousand non-essential crew had been on shore-leave during the incident. Forty thousand, however, were unaccounted for - dead from void exposure, judging from the boarding party's report. Reacquiring a new crew would also require time, and the logistics of paying for an inactive body of voidfarers was going to be a painful strain of resources for a while.  
The initial report had made no mention of Moerchen, to the Lady's shock. After some persisting, the Navy officer explained to the Lady Inquisitor that he was likely dead. Not even after explaining the insanity of saying a fully-armored Space Marine would be unable to survive, the officer had suggested he had been sucked into the void, or had been present in an area hit by ordinance.  
Fools, the lot of them.  
The Lady Inquisitor stared out through the clear background panes of her stained glass window, out upon the rear lawn of the hospice. The bell tower was ringing in the eighth Terran hour of the day; Sororitas of the attached Hospitaller convent were scurrying to their studies.  
Eight in the morning. The recovery from the _Valkyrie_ was due.  
The door opened into the Lady Inquisitor's room: Lamortes again. He was certainly much cheerier than he had been before, sorting through the mess of information regarding the entire disaster. "We have a special visitor for you, my Lady," he said.  
The Lady Inquisitor took up her crutch and stood from her seat, expecting some noble in her weariness. Instead, in came the Chaplain, who had to bow almost entirely over to fit through. "My Lady," he said in greeting, kneeling before the Inquisitor.  
The Lady Inquisitor nearly screamed in joy. "Moerchen!" She yelled, dropping her crutch and hobbling over to the Marine. "You're alive! Oh, you're alive!" She cried, wrapping her arms around as much of his power armor as she could. "They said you didn't make it off, but I didn't buy that for one second!"  
He compliantly leaned as she hastily tugged him forwards; she repeatedly kissed the forehead of his helmet. "I apologize if I worried you, my Lady," he rasped as she pulled back.  
"Forget that! What happened?"  
"There wasn't enough room for me in the bridge-staff lifepod I put Brother Rados in," the Chaplain explained. "By the time I got to the standard lifepod bay, most of it was non-functional. I simply sat and waited."  
"Apparently the salvage team only came across him by chance while coming down on the mid-decks," Lamortes added.  
Moerchen nodded. "The Emperor has truly blessed me, that I was found within that great labyrinth." He looked over the Lady Inquisitor now. "I am unharmed, but what has become of you? I thought you were in a comfort lodge, anyway."  
"It's a long story-"  
"Tell it to me, please."  
The Lady Inquisitor sighed. "The servitors went berserk. They killed the entire staff, security included, and came after me, Lamortes and Heidrich."  
"And the Acolyte failed to keep you from being wounded?" Moerchen asked, gesturing to the Lady's wrapped leg.  
"No, no. That was my own damn fault," the Lady Inquisitor said. "We were attacked by something besides servitors," she looked over at Lamortes, "a... a-"  
"A Goleph," Lamortes announced. "A heretek-built attempt at the Silica Animus. They're dangerous, sentient assassins."  
"It shot me in the leg with a blade catapult," the Lady Inquisitor added. "The kid had to carry me out."  
Lamortes snorted. "For one to appear at the lodge, it suggests that someone knew the Lady Inquisitor's identity, and knew in advance she would be there. The entire thing reeks of greater conspiracy."  
Moerchen nodded. "I agree. We should move along as soon as possible."  
The Lady Inquisitor nodded. "Max, look into acquiring a vessel for passage to Scintilla. Use my seal, if you must, but make sure the crew won't sell us out first."  
Lamortes nodded. As he turned to leave, he quickly stuck his head back in the room. "And, the objects recovered from the _Valkyrie_ are here, too." he said, pointing into the hall.  
"Thanks," the Lady Inquisitor said. Lamortes bowed, and moved along.  
The Lady Inquisitor got up again, and limped out through the doorway: In the hall were several carts laden with boxes. "All of my plants were dead when they found them..." She sighed, shaking her head. "What a collection, gone."  
"It's not as if all of them are dead. The ones in your residence on Scintilla persist," Moerchen said, stepping through into the hall with her. "You've escaped with your life, anyway. You can always rebuild it."  
"Perhaps," the Lady Inquisitor took one particularly light box in-hand - the label designated it as being the only box from Heidrich's room. All that was probably in it was clothing.  
She looked up at the Chaplain. "Could you go deliver this to the kid? He's sitting out on the back lawn."  
"Certainly," Moerchen said, taking the case from her. As he began to walk away, she tapped him with her crutch.  
"He's slumped into some silly melancholy. He thinks he's useless after last night," she explained. "You're a Chaplain, say something to him."  
Moerchen nodded. "I shall see what I can do."

Sitting stooped over on a bench, Heidrich stared off onto the horizon. He was discontent, uncomfortable, and riddled with pent-up anxieties... all this was evident to Moerchen from his posture alone.  
"Idleness begets doubt, my son," the Chaplain declared, causing Heidrich to lurch back.  
"Honored Chaplain-"  
"No need for such honorific titles. I am merely Moerchen," he said, standing beside the mortal. "I see you are troubled. By what, I wonder?"  
Heidrich turned his gaze away from the Chaplain, searching for words which would not disappoint him. "I... I failed."  
"Failed?"  
"My Lady should not have been injured. She was in my care, and I failed. She even had to save me, initially."  
"But she is alive and well," Moerchen countered. "It shall take far worse than a pitiful cut to end her existence."  
"But still..."  
Moerchen looked down at him. "She speaks highly of you. She places no blame upon you for her wounds," the Korpsman raised his head at this. "I understand you carried her out of danger?"  
"Yes."  
"Then that in and of itself is evidence of your capability," Moerchen assured him. "As for her own assistance, she has her own code to follow. That she helped you was only the result of her camaraderie, as there will inevitably be times where you cannot defeat a foe under your power alone. Needless to say, you certainly repaid her in-full."  
Heidrich scoffed at this. "What was I to do, just leave her there?"  
"There are some that would do such a thing," Moerchen told him. "In this galaxy, mankind is wracked with poverty and despair. Many completely lose their goodwill in the struggle for survival, for there is often no reward for benevolence..."  
The Chaplain held his crozius over Heidrich's head. "But you still feel guilt on account of others. You are a boon unto all mankind."  
Heidrich had nothing to say in response to that. Content, Moerchen took the box out from under his arm. "These were recovered from your bunk aboard the _Valkyrie,_" he said, handing it to the Korpsman.  
Heidrich removed the lid: Within was his bowl helmet, as well as his entire Korps uniform; his greatcoat rested beneath everything else. He slipped the coat out, stood up, and unfolded it.  
"Do you miss the Guard?" Moerchen asked.  
"No," Heidrich plainly said. "I'm happy with this."  
"That's good to hear," the Chaplain said, stepping back. "You have a calling now. The Emperor has given you an opportunity to do good in His service. Take it, but hold no regrets."  
As the giant stepped away, Heidrich looked to him. "Thank you, Chaplain Moerchen."  
"It is only my duty, my son," Moerchen said; he looked up at the Lady Inquisitor's window, and held his thumb up to her. Pleased, she retracted from the window ledge.  
Heidrich retrieved the holo from the inside pocket of his coat, and sat down again, gazing at Ersebet's face. Staring into those soft features, every trace of his apprehension vanished.  
"A calling..." he breathed, turning his eyes to the sky.


	4. Volume II Part 1

**II**  
**RISEN**

**1**  
**Hive Sibellus, Scintilla**

"The Omniprophet is prepared to see you now, Lord."  
Lamortes smiled at the adept and stepped forward, through the heavy brass doors.  
To the wayward Magos, it was a dreadful shame for a tech-priest to reside in an office for longer than an hour; to own one, a foul disgrace. To find Tarashik doing work better left for some lowly intern-scribe within a chamber more elaborate than many Ecclesiarchy temples was unsurprising, however.  
The Omniprophet Tarashik was one of the tech-priests responsible for both promotion of the Priesthood on Scintilla, as well as intelligence-gathering; the practice left him exposed to the corruptive influence of the Imperial bureaucracy, however. Loath as Lamortes was to pass through a Mechanicus manufactory again, a chance to acquire some knowledge from Tarashik, who was nearly as old as the Magos, was worth the suffering: No other Omniprophet on Scintilla was as keen to detail as he was.  
Tarashik, already standing, strode out from behind his desk and bowed before his elder. "You honor us with your presence, Magos."  
"Let's get to the point, Tarashik," Lamortes deadpanned. "I trust you read my enclosed report?"  
Tarashik nodded. "And I'm glad you encrypted it. This is a troubling development."  
"Can you think of anyone who could have done this?"  
Tarashik let out an artificial breath. "I can think of... a few..."  
"As could I," Lamortes said, producing from his robes one of the monoblades he had been hit with. "The disks the Goleph fired were mono-edged, built around an adamantium core. On this scale it was purely aesthetic, of course, but the troubling thing was the purity of the adamantium within... I suspect the stock was artificial."  
"Then it's no puny dabbler we're dealing with," Tarashik noted. "Synthesis at the molecular level... that's very, very rare arcana."  
"Undoubtedly..." Lamortes hid the disk again. "Does that narrow your suspicions?"  
"As much as it does yours, I imagine. But how long has it been since we've even heard of Sevanar?"  
"A century, I suspect."  
"Indeed," Tarashik turned again to his desk. "She's cut all ties in Calixis. I was initially suspicious she'd moved on to the Ultima Segmentum."  
"All ties? Are you sure?" Lamortes asked, watching the Omniprophet step back to his desk to activate the cogitator atop it . "Didn't she also have a sister, who remained loyal?"  
"Atrielle, yes," Tarashik said. "Brilliant woman. She never rose from Enginseer, though. Too... obsessed... with maternity."  
"What became of her?"  
"After the Magos's excommunication, Atrielle Sevanar was essentially sidelined. Family sins, and what-not. She was shipped off to the Segmentum Pacificus to work in Krieg's cloning facilities. Needless to say it was an unwise decision."  
"What became of her, then?"  
"I do not entirely know the specifics, though I can guess. The shrine there on Krieg was not forthcoming with details, you see, but about twenty years ago, she caused enough trouble to be recalled to Scintilla for censure. The ship she was aboard never appeared."  
"Lost in the Warp..." Lamortes sighed. "Well, I suppose that's one lead gone."  
"But do you really think Magos Sevanar would attack an Inquisitor outright? She was never a violent one, she's only ever fled from such situations."  
"It's unwise to speak for what a hundred years of exposure to the dark arts can do to a personality," the old Magos commented. "This could easily be her doing."  
"You mentioned a ship in your report, though... a battleship your own vessel clashed with?"  
"I did not see it myself," Lamortes said, shaking his head. "But I did glean a few details about it. It was large, with a jagged hull covered in blades. It was heavily armed, especially with what I suspect was a Nova Cannon."  
"You think Sevanar could have built that?"  
"Under her own resources? No. Not even if she had uncovered some great, lost shipbuilding practice."  
"Do you suspect she's working with someone?"  
"I imagine it's a probability."  
"Who could it be?"  
"That is not something for me to divulge now," Lamortes turned to leave. "If you'll excuse me, I must meet with my Lady Inquisitor."  
"Walk with the Omnissiah, Magos Lamortes."  
"Bless you, Tarashik," Maddox said, and passed through the brass gates.

"The glorious sage returns," the Lady Inquisitor announced from her perch on the second floor, staring down at Lamortes as he entered the librarium. Heidrich followed him in shortly after.  
"Ah, and there's the hero. I'm sure you turned quite a few heads with that fanciful military attire you insist on wearing," the Lady Inquisitor teased; the Korpsman coughed nervously. "What did you two find out?"  
"I don't have any leads on Sevanar," Lamortes admitted, staring up at the Lady with a dejected half-smile.  
"I see..." The Lady Inquisitor looked over at Heidrich. "Well, I'm sure my hero brought us some good news. What about our good friends at the Amalgamation? Were you able to schedule a meeting?"  
"Yes, and no."  
The Lady Inquisitor raised her brow at this.  
"The Chairman was on holiday to Quaddis, and so no place could be scheduled to meet with him," Heidrich explained. "However, I did drop one of your nobility aliases, and you've been placed as the highest priority for when he returns." He held up a file he had been carrying. "And, I did make a stop by the Tricorn like you instructed. Got the profile on Chairman Ludorf, as you asked."  
"Nice work!" the Lady Inquisitor cheered, and grinned over at Lamortes. "You see, Max? This kid's good. In the time it took you to talk to a single man to find out your investigation was hopeless, he went across half of Sibellus and put us on the track of our mystery ship."  
"Please. He didn't have to deal with the rituals of entering a Mechanicus sanctum, of opening doors, of waiting in line for an appointment," the Magos snapped. "That damned Tarashik grows more and more like an Administratum official each year. Too inefficient. Too many rabble were there."  
The Lady Inquisitor looked again to Heidrich. "So when do we think Ludorf will be back?"  
"They told me to give it a month or so."  
"Good work," the Lady Inquisitor tossed a silken purse down to him. "That's for you to enjoy."  
Heidrich loosened the knot around the mouth of the small bag, and plucked out one of the glinting precious coins within. Confused, he looked up at the Lady Inquisitor, who sighed. "You know what, I'll have to take you out to the market. You need some new clothes, anyway," she explained. "Now, go wait in the sedan, I'll be down in a few minutes."  
Heidrich nodded, and quickly exited.  
The Lady Inquisitor smiled, and began to descend the staircase. "So, Max," she called as she passed from sight, "did you make that stop by the Arbites precinct?  
"I did, Mamzel," Lamortes answered. "A team is up tapping the Chairman's penthouse right now. Intelligencer Gerben's Investigators are the precinct's best. They've got it all planned out to look like routine Arbites work. There will be no tracing back to you."  
"Excellent, as always," the Lady Inquisitor stepped towards the door; she paused for a moment, and kissed Lamortes on the cheek. "Nice work. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to introduce the boy to society."  
With that, she left.

The day had not been well for Niels Ludorf, twenty-fifth Chairman of the Turas-Hie Amalgamation.  
Following a meager two hours of sleep aboard his transport, he had been woken to attend to business reports, all of which distinctly lacked any coded messages from the Master. This troubled Ludorf greatly: The twenty-fourth Chairman had died very shortly after he had started complaining to his servant Ludorf that the Master had ceased to communicate; supposedly that had been the fate of the twenty-third Chairman, and the twenty-second, and the twenty-first...  
To make matters worse that evening, once he had returned to the Amalgamation's headquarters, the lobby attendant failed to inform him that an appointment was awaiting him in his office.  
In one of the guest chairs opposite his desk sat a woman, bedecked in jewelry and clothing of the most elegant fashion; beside her, a tall, pale gentleman in dark attire of the same majestic quality, yet more fit for a seneschal. As fine as he looked with his style, he did not seem particularly comfortable with it.  
"Greetings, Lord Ludorf." The woman bowed her head.  
"Who are you?" the Chairman snapped; quickly realizing himself, he patted over his clothing. "I'm sorry, who might you be?" he asked, attempting to sweeten his tone.  
"I am Irena Malian, heiress of House Malian," she said, then gestured to her servant. "This is my advisor, Monkel."  
The servant bowed.  
"I wished to speak with you regarding the deaths of my mother and father?..."  
"I am deeply sorry to hear about your loss," Ludorf lied. He slipped into his seat, and poured himself a glass of Vintage 480. "What did you wish to ask of me? I'm afraid I cannot say I've heard of your venerable line."  
"My family bases itself out of Malfi..."  
Malfi. The name of that planet made Ludorf hesitate as he brought his glass to his lips. Experience had proven that, were a Malfian House to be involved, so too would bloodshed. "Oh?"  
"Yes," Malian said. "Word recently reached my home that my parents had died in a horrible event on Hilarion. More specifically, over Hilarion."  
Ludorf knew where this was going. "What of it?"  
Malian leaned in, smiling sweetly to the Chairman. "They were attending a party aboard the pleasure barge of that planet's governing Council. It was destroyed during an attack by an armed superfreighter registered under the Amalgamation."  
"I'm sorry to hear this. Truly I am," Ludorf said. "But the Turas-Hie Amalgamation has already made public that the superfreighter _Emperor's Dawn_ was not actually registered under our organization."  
"I was curious. You held a medicae research facility on Hilarion?"  
"Yes..."  
"Funny, because the facility was closed down that day due to contamination, and all staff left the planet... aboard the _Emperor's Dawn._"  
The Chairman lurched, nearly choking on his drink; he cursed himself for it immediately. He distractedly reached for the handcloth beside his drink tray, aware of the noblewoman's stare. "I..." He coughed. "I will say it again, the _Emperor's Dawn_ was not registered under us."  
Ludorf noticed the noblewoman briefly turn her eyes to Monkel; the servant shifted his posture, and from his sleeve slipped out a fine blade, which glinted in the bright artificial light of the office. Ludorf immediately began tapping the panic button on the underside of his desk with his kneecap... to no effect.  
"Don't even bother attempting to call for help, Chairman," Malian said, her smile now taking on an entirely new, more grim appearance. "We cut your security measures before you came in. Your aural recorder is disabled. Nobody is going to help you, and you won't have any proof that I was even here."  
Ludorf began to sweat. "I... what do you want of me?"  
"Give me the records of everything you were doing on Hilarion. Also, give me all papers regarding your interactions with the _Emperor's Dawn._"  
Ludorf reached into his desk, and took from it a dataslate. He quickly thumbed a few settings across it; after a few moments he handed it to the noblewoman. "There. All the information you want, downloaded straight from my personal data cache. Now please... leave me?" he said, his tone growing shrill with that final sentence.  
The noblewoman renewed her smile; Monkel hid his weapon again. "Thank you," Malian said, standing up. "We'll be meeting again, very, very soon."  
Before an Arbites Judge, Ludorf supposed.  
Her business done, the noblewoman left with her servant. The Chairman quickly poured himself another glass, and another, and another...

Exiting into the street, the Lady Inquisitor pulled the pin from her hair, and let her dark locks fall into place. "Nice work, kiddo," she said. "That was pretty good improv, what with the knife thing."  
Heidrich shrugged. "You think this will make for a good lead?"  
"I have no doubt about it," the Lady Inquisitor answered, grinning. "Come on, let's go get some dinner."

Indeed, the day had not been well for Niels Ludorf, twenty-fifth Chairman of the Turas-Hie Amalgamation, and the stress followed him all the way home...  
He stumbled into the expansive foyer, too exhausted to flip the lightswitch beside the main doors. In the dim of sparse lamplight, several of his gynoid servitors, naked porcelain skin gleaming with the splendor they had maintained for years, greeted him with their dumb, lustful smiles; he was too tired to indulge quite how he would have been eager to a few decades earlier. He brushed by them, and ascended the stairs to his room.  
He pushed open the polished-fallwood doors of his lavish bedchambers, dropping his tailcoat in its place atop the stool by the door.  
Only as he came to the center of the space did he take notice, in the pitch blackness of the unlit room, the glow of two familiar blue orbs staring at over at him from before the far wall.  
Immediately, Ludorf's jaw dropped; his eyes went wide; his bladder loosened itself across the floor; he began to moan as he collapsed to his knees. "M-my Lord!"

"Hey," Investigator Jyaako tapped his partner, Raf, on the arm, waking him from his doze, "sounds like the Chairman's getting high again."  
"Shit," Investigator Raf said, beaming as he donned his headphones again. "If it's anything like this afternoon's little episode..."  
"Yeah, definitely obscura again. He's talking to himself."

"I needed to see for myself," the Master growled, stepping forward through the dark. "I needed to see how you would react."  
He reached down, and grabbed Ludorf by the neck, lifting the plump little businessman two meters off the ground. "And that was all I needed to see. You've betrayed me."  
"I'm... sorry..." Ludorf gasped, all the while squirming and gagging. "It... wasn't me, Lord Vok! I swear, it wasn't me!"

"Whoa, hold on... there's someone else in there," Jyaako said, tapping the side of his headset. "Get the Intelligencer back here."  
Raf nodded, and slipped into the front of the vehicle.

"You idiot!" the Master roared, and smashed Ludorf's face against the marble wall, sliding his head down until it met with the top of his desk. "I told you, never use that name! Never! Do you know how many taps they have in this room alone?" He lifted up Ludorf's head, and quickly slammed it against the table; by this point, the Chairman, dazed, was quite certain his skull was cracked and bleeding.  
"I'm sorry..." he whimpered.  
"No amount of begging will save you now. I've come to end your disgusting existence."

"Here, here, there's somebody else in the room with him," Raf said as he led his superior into the listening compartment.  
"Who is it?" Intelligencer Gerben asked; Jyaako hastily put his finger against his mouth, and then handed the Intelligencer a headset.

The Master lowered his metal visage into the fading eyesight of Ludorf. "Now go on. Say it loud and clear. Say my name that all may know."  
Ludorf attempted to open his mouth; the pain of even moving his jaw was excruciating.  
"Say it. Say it!" The Master beat Ludorf's head against the desk again, sending various novelty trinkets to the floor.

"Yrtzen... Vok..."  
Another slam.  
"Again!"  
"Yrtzen Vok..."  
Yet another.  
Intelligencer Gerben narrowed his eyes as he listened in. "Go call the precinct. Get the Proctor down here with a heavy suppression squad. Quickly!"  
Raf obeyed, and slipped into the front of the chimera.  
"Again!" the voice commanded.  
"Yrtzen Vok!"  
The terrible snap of bone now accompanied the rattle of the table.  
"Keep saying it! Keep saying it!"  
"Yrtzen Vok!"  
The horrendous spurting of flowing blood.  
"Yrtzen Vok!"  
"Yrtzen Vok!"  
"Yrtzen Vok!"

Within a matter of seconds, Precinct Proctor Zef Nurev's guncutter came weaving through the hive spires. With autocannon turrets darting about on their axes, the craft put down on Ludorf's private landing pad with its passenger bay ramp lowered, a fully-armored squad of eight enforcers leaping off even before it had fully made contact with the ground. Once its entire load of passengers was off, the cutter took off again, circling about the building in wait.  
The Arbites group bore a professional, purposeful momentum which was only halted for a moment as two of their number broke open the locked gate into the spire. Within, they spread out across the hallways, looking for any activity as they slowly neared the Chairman's suite.

There was but one thing which Yrtzen Vok had the urge to do at that very moment, and that was murder. For a few precious moments he unburdened his malignancy upon the fat Ludorf's bare chest, carving his message unto all Calixis across the Chairman's flesh.  
The mutilation did not sustain itself for long, and so Vok found himself bashing through the bedchamber doorway, beyond which pleasure servitors, capable only of submitting themselves to another's whim, had gathered as per their scheduled routine. Vok made quick work of tearing them apart with his two manipulator arms. Too quick, too quick, more had to die...  
Then he caught the sound of shouting men outside Ludorf's penthouse - orders being barked, directions given: Armed troopers were coming for him. _Good,_ he thought, _more cattle for the slaughter._

"Has your team cut all the power?" Proctor Nurev asked over his comm-bead, closing the distance to the suite all the while.  
"Yes," Gerben responded, "but we've already got twenty different residents complaining."  
"Show them your damn badge," Nurev snapped. "That should shut them up long enough to get a round of names. Any non-compliants get the rod."  
The Proctor glanced down at his Spectre rifle, unlocking the safety. "Squads coming in down on mid-floor. No power to lifts, stairwells will be packed with enforcers. This guy's got nowhere to run."  
Nurev looked back at his squad, and slid his preysense visor down over his eyes; the rest of the team followed his example.  
They lined up against the wall beside the massive doors of Ludorf's residence. An enforcer quickly came up to the front with a weighty ram, and began bashing its blunt face against the gates.  
With a few seconds of battering, the doors were sundered, and the enforcers quickly flowed into the lightless chamber.  
Nurev glanced about, flipping through the spectrum his visor afforded him. He took note of the cooling corpses of what appeared to be servitors; there was nothing alive in the room.  
Nurev switched to visible light, and turned on his helmet's flash-torch; his team did the same.  
None noticed the large lump of scrap-metal against the entrance wall.  
"Tero, Maris, cover the entrance. Ketos, Joun and Vlasis, you three with me upstairs," Nurev ordered. "Rest of you, take the downstairs-"  
A sharp, mechanical shriek hit their ears, stunning the whole of the Arbites team. Several of the enforcers began pulling their helmets off, thinking the source was their comm-beads...  
The plates of the shapen scrap by the door began to click and rattle. Dazed yet recovering, Nurev's jaw dropped as the metal unfolded into the form of a huge, mechanical man. Sinuous mechadendrites tipped with what looked like telescopic lenses writhed about from some source in its backside.  
"What the f-" Nurev's words were cut off as one of the mechadendrites arched towards him and shot a searing las-beam at him. The shot cut into the base of his neck, killing him instantly.  
The others, staggering but alert, raised their weapons as Vok lunged forward, grabbing Tero by his neck, and jabbing into his gut with an incisor-claw. He spread open the powerful grip, tearing Tero's body in-two from within. Vok threw the dead enforcer's upper torso at Maris just as he and several of the others began screaming out in terror.  
Vok fired another beam at Vlasis, punching a whole through his armor; thinking him felled, Vok then turned to Ketos, only to be knocked back by a blast from his target's shotgun; both he and Joun then began to unload into the Master's chest, sending him now to the floor.  
The two continued their assault, unsure if they were doing any damage or not. The entire time, Joun was attempting some sort of war cry.  
The noise irritated Vok to no end.  
He forced a convulsion on himself, as though he were a dead machine, and let the light of his eyes fade out. Just as he expected, the two dumb enforcers stepped forward to check their kill.  
Then Vok ran them through on his incisor-arms.  
He stood up again, the two still alive while skewered to his uppermost limbs. Rather than grant them quick death as he had the Proctor and Tero, Vok simply let them slide off and fall to the floor.  
The flesh within their wounds began to grow black. Already numbed by the shock and coursing adrenaline, the two enforcers began to voice new agony as unspeakable pain wracked their bodies.  
Every exposed vein on their bodies darkened, then their cries ended, and indeed all life as well.  
Vok let out a discontented rumble. "Not enough. Not enough, not enough, not enough..."  
Vok's gaze shot up towards the moaning Vlasis: He was not dead. Yet.  
Ravenous for more violence, he stepped over to the wounded Arbitrator, lifted him off the floor again, and strode out.  
With some feint of calmness about his movements, Vok made to the stairwell. Carefully, he opened the door and stepped in. He leaned forward, looking down the shaft - far down on the floor, he could make out the movements of Arbites troopers.  
A malevolent prank came to his mind. He held out the arm with which he held the dying Vlasis, and let go. The enforcer tumbled in freefall, twisting about as he bashed against guide rails. Odds were he was dead long before he hit the bottom.  
"Holy Throne, Vlasis! Guys, it's Enforcer Rulek!"  
Numerous echoes of murmured voices rose up to Vok. He held out his left arm, and willed the compartment within slide open; it did so, revealing two gleaming orbs of dark-red metal. He plucked one of the firebombs out, and pushed the slide on its face into the 'primed' position. He took up the other as well and, clutching the other in his left hand, primed it also. The first he dropped directly downwards; the second was thrown just so that it landed on a step, and exploded, spitting out refined promethium across the nearby steps.  
An instant later, the other hit the base of the stairwell; afterwards, the only echoes coming up were those of more screams...  
Watching from afar as the ants below began to madly thrash, ablaze with fires they could not hope to quench, Vok's fury began to subside, and he quickly snapped out of his bloodlust. He stepped out of the stairwell, and went to the lift doors in the hall.  
No-doubt the lifts themselves had been shut off, but that did not matter. Vok parted the two doors with little effort, and peered down the shaft. He looked forward again, and decided on how to reach his escape route.  
He leapt forward, and took hold of the central lift cable. Loosening his grip, he dropped downwards, past walls marked with massive, white floor-indication numbers.  
Vok stopped as he came to the floor he intended to leave on, far below the toil of the Adeptus Arbites. The shaft continued on several hundred floors further down, and he could make out the lift itself close below.  
He reached out, and grappled pieces of piping which hung above the floor portal. He swung forward, and dug his free hand into the space between the two doors. He rent the doorway open, using his feet to keep it parted as he took hold of a ledge over the doorway. He let go of his hold in the lift shaft, and swung into the open space of the abandoned chamber within.  
Vok glanced about the surrounding support pillars; the ghostlike echoes of city-life bounded throughout the garbage-strewn floor. Recalling his path, he set out through the maze of uninhabited steel.  
He quickly found himself in a decaying section, where the wall, ceiling and floor had all crumbled away, opening the level to Sibellan life. A grav-sedan sat perched on the edge, deftly landed just out of noticeable sight of the main hole. He approached, standing twice the height of the vehicle's roof.  
The Master bowed himself over, and opened the passenger door; he crawled in, and sat, hunched forward, in the far back. The windows on either side of him were shuttered closed.  
"It was a mistake coming here," Vok announced, to his driver at the front. "They know about me now."  
Her face disguised by the respiration mask she wore, Losa Proga's expression was undetectable. "Surely you don't think they could track you?"  
"That fat waste let my name slip. If the Inquisition is competent, then they remember the last time I slipped through their fingers."  
"So Ludorf really did betray us..."  
"Do not dwell on it," Vok ordered, reaching back to don his cameleoline cloak again. "Take me from this pit."  
The grav-sedan shuddered lightly, and took off.

The Lady Inquisitor straightened the wrinkles out of her dress as the lift stopped. "Well. I suppose that was a hell of a lead we took, for him to be dead so quickly."  
The doors parted. Heidrich looked to her as she held up her rosette to the Arbitrator by the door. The Lady Inquisitor looked back up at him. "A shame. Not only have we lost our connection to Hilarion, but our dinner was also ruined."  
"I think we have larger concerns at hand than food, my Lady," Heidrich commented, walking along beside the Inquisitor.  
She chuckled, stopping before the entrance of the locked-down penthouse. "Some decent food beside some decent surroundings is good for you every now and then. Now let's see who and what did this..."  
The Lady Inquisitor pushed open the doors of Ludorf's suite: She and her Acolyte were greeted by a mess of blood, spilt organs, and whole corpses.  
The Inquisitor put her hand to her mouth. "Throne on Earth. This guy wasted an entire team of Arbites?"  
"And then he cooked two additional support squads trying to choke him off at the stairs!" Gerben appeared from ledge of the staircase. "Inquisitor, I am deeply sorry for our failure," he said, perhaps louder than he needed to. The effect of a District officer's beration was immediate and obvious upon the working staff.  
"No need for apologies, Intelligencer," the Lady responded. "Just let us see Ludorf."  
Gerben acknowledged, and motioned for the two to come upstairs. He led them into Ludorf's room, where a pair of investigators were making sweeps.  
Ludorf's corpse lay spread-eagle, face-first on the floor before his desk.  
The Lady Inquisitor frowned. "What killed him? I don't see gunshots or anything, but he really bled."  
Gerben made a gesture to an investigator beside the twenty-fifth Chairman, who turned the pudgy body over, revealing the horrendous dent that had smashed his face in on itself. She quickly realized he had been beaten to death.  
"The kind of strength to do that is unprecedented," the Lady commented. Heidrich remained quiet, watching, hoping to gain a glint of more knowledge as to how to do his job.  
"You've got that right. It's like he didn't even put up a fight," the Intelligencer explained. "Judging from the audio, he didn't."  
"Where is that, by the way?"  
Gerben shrugged. "I'll have a copy made for you," he said, and stepped out.  
The Lady Inquisitor moved forward, and kneeled besides Ludorf. "A glove, please," she said, holding her hand out to the present investigators.  
She looked up at them. "A sterilized glove, please?" she patiently asked. A moment later she received what she wanted, and put it on.  
"What are you doing?" Heidrich asked, stepping beside the Lady again as she pulled open the numerous folds of Ludorf's upper clothing.  
"Looking for a clue..." the Lady Inquisitor answered, just as she pulled open the fat Chairman's undershirt. She had just found her clue. "Well well."  
Heidrich leaned in: Ludorf's fat chest and belly had been carved into. The scabbed wounds formed a sort of pattern that almost seemed like writing; the characters were in no way standard Gothic.  
The Lady Inquisitor narrowed her eyes and frowned. "I knew it. A message. This sort of thing is common among serial killers. This language, I've seen this before. Somewhere..." She looked about the room. "Where, though?"  
She stood up as the Intelligencer entered again with a data-slate. "Here you are, my Lady," he said, holding it out to her.  
The Lady Inquisitor nodded to him, and took the data-slate. "Have some picts of this scene sent to my office in the Tricorn. Has your investigation revealed other information as of now?"  
Gerben shrugged. "As of now, not really. Two of the Proctor's enforcers are dead of some sort of poison, that much is obvious. We won't be able to identify it until a medicae team gets a look at the bodies."  
The Lady Inquisitor looked down at Ludorf. "Make sure to get a few shots of the carvings on his gut."  
"Yes, Mamzel," Gerben said.  
The Lady Inquisitor gestured to Heidrich, and then left.  
Stepping again aboard the lift, she turned to her Acolyte. "A shame you weren't on their team. I bet you could have kicked the crap out of our killer."  
"Please," the Krieger laughed. "If these men were unable to kill him, I don't think I have much of a chance, either."  
The Lady Inquisitor grinned, and sent the lift down to the motorpool.

As The Lady Inquisitor had expected, the forwarded reports from Gerben, as well as the medicae team that autopsied the dead enforcers, had shed no light upon her case. The only real point given by the medicae, being also the most obvious one, was that the toxin with which two of the bodies had been killed, was incredibly potent. Simply looking at the necrotized state of the remains gave away that much.  
The recording, however, proved much more interesting. 'Yrtzen Vok' was a name which tingled at the Lady's mind, as though she recognized it from somewhere, but she had no idea who Vok was to begin with. There were, however, those that did, and the Lady Inquisitor was interested in hearing from them.  
To that end, her agenda took the Lady first to the high office of Lord Inquisitor Petronian Aronus.  
Aronus had changed considerably since his replacing Lord Inquisitor Direntus. He had become practically attached to his desk due to paperwork, to the extent he had ordered a life-support augmetic system be installed so that he might stay in his office without eating, and thus become literally attached to his desk. Such was the state of unending review and inscription the Lady Inquisitor found him in when the void-shield around his approach dropped, and the doors opened.  
"Good evening, Mamzel," he said, pushing aside a mound of files with a meaty arm.  
"It's high-sun, Petro," the Lady cracked; the door closed behind her. "Did you hear about what happened?"  
"Regarding how your investigation into the Turas-Hie Chairman was cut short by his untimely demise?"  
"Yes, that."  
"And I understand you're here to ask for information that might concern it?"  
The Lady Inquisitor removed the audio log data-slate, and thumbed it to play from the point she had left it on:  
"Say it. Say it!" the voice in the recording bellowed.  
"Yrtzen... Vok..." Came the voice of Ludorf.  
The Lady shut the recording off there. Aronus frowned.  
"Does the name sound familiar?" the Lady Inquisitor asked. "Yrtzen Vok."  
Aronus grumbled to himself. "Indeed it does. Yrtzen Vok is an old name. A horrifically infamous name."  
"Funny I've never heard it."  
"Most people think he's dead. Most people also think the galaxy rotates around Holy Terra," Aronus sourly commented. "I remember my mentor, Inquisitor Despoinan used to mention him from time-to-time. He was apparently responsible for countless riots, disasters and rebellions on numerous worlds across the Sector. Most people who have gone after him have wound up killed. Mistress Despoinan included."  
"Interesting. Do we know anything about him at all?"  
"Nothing, really. His name is thousands of years old," Aronus said. "The most I've ever gleaned from records about him, and I never really looked too deep myself, is that he was heavily associated with tech-heresy."  
The Lady Inquisitor sighed. "Very well then. Where is Inquisitor Freia? I could probably use her help."  
"Let me see..." Lord Inquisitor Aronus began to shuffle through his paperwork, mumbling to himself until he came across a letter. "Ah, yes. Roslindis left for Hive Tarsus earlier. I think she's also looking into the Amalgamation."  
"Thank you, Lord."  
"Was there anything else I could do for you?" Arnasked. "I understand you're rather lacking for manpower right now."  
"I intend to deal with my employ on my own, thank you, Petro," the Lady Inquisitor said. "Thanks for giving me some time, too."  
"Don't mention it. I'm sorry I couldn't give you much," Aronus said, opening the door for her.  
The Lady Inquisitor bowed her head to him, and stepped through.  
"One last thing."  
"Hm?" The Lady Inquisitor looked back at him.  
"I'm serious when I say everyone who chases Vok ends up dead. I think he has agents running around in the Inquisition."  
"Thanks for your concern," the Lady said, and stepped out.  
The Lady Inquisitor descended the Tricorn's northernmost tower again, stopping at the flier bay. Within was kept her private guncutter, which remained in almost constant storage - a memento from a time of less responsible budgeting on the Lady's part, as the well-armed craft saw little use.  
Moerchen awaited by the cutter, which had been pulled into the open space for takeoff.  
The Chaplain bowed as she approached.  
"Are Max and the kid still up in the armory?"  
"Indeed," Moerchen grunted.  
The Lady laughed under her breath. "If they aren't back soon, we'll have a problem. We need to get going," she said, looking back to the lifts. "Roslind's looking into the Amalgamation, too. I imagine she's pretty much wreaking havoc in the Goldenhand right now."  
The Chaplain growled in acknowledgement. "Inquisitor Freia is not one for subtlety."  
The Lady Inquisitor openly chuckled at this. Roslindis Freia's means of operation had never really adapted to the position of Inquisitor; she opted to approach things as though she were still in the Arbites.  
"As much as I like her assistance, I'm not sure Roslind is going to be very helpful right now. I've got the feeling this Vok guy's going to get spooked by her raiding his front company's stock office."  
"Front company? You mean you've connected them?"  
"Let's not be silly, Moerchen," the Lady Inquisitor said. "Many heads of the Amalgamation have been assassinated in similar manners to Ludorf. A giant battleship disguised as a freighter registered under Turas-Hie, a facility probably housing xeno-tech on some out-of-the-way world... it all cries out, 'look at us! We're criminals!'"  
She looked back to the lifts as one set of doors opened; from therein stepped Lamortes and Heidrich, the latter now carrying a fresh weapon in his hands.  
"About time," the Lady Inquisitor wryly said as they came close. "Couldn't decide what color you wanted the gun to be painted?"  
"He had a few misgivings about what he wanted," Lamortes explained, laying his hands on Heidrich's shoulders. "He was looking for another lasgun, but I didn't want him running around with a Guard-issue Mark Three."  
"So what's that then?" The Lady Inquisitor pointed Heidrich's new rifle.  
"Las carbine," the Korpsman bluntly said.  
The Lady Inquisitor nodded, and turned to her cutter. "Aboard, everyone. We're heading to Tarsus to look into our target." She glanced back at Lamortes as she stepped up the boarding ramp in the back of the craft. "Still know how to fly this thing, Max?"  
"As though it were such a routine as eating," the Tech-Priest said, following after. Instantly recalling something, he grabbed the Lady's arm, and hold out a file to her. "A Novitiate of the Orders Dialogous stopped us out in the hall before we came down and gave this to us. Turns out they already translated the text from Ludorf's corpse."  
"What an unexpected surprise from the Sororitas," the Lady Inquisitor said, smiling as she looked at the label on the tan file jacket. "Go get the cutter flying, I'll be in my cabin."  
A few minutes later, the cutter jolted upwards, then forwards. The Lady Inquisitor patiently remained seated, and opened up the file.  
The language of the carving was 'Sorellian' - a dead 'aesthetic language,' known only to a handful of scholars. The translation had been made by means of a musty old guide that had probably been in preservation for upwards of eight centuries.  
The Lady Inquisitor turned the page over, to the translation itself, and its notes.  
The translation struck the Lady Inquisitor, being the avid reader she was, as a quote from the villain of the old epic, Tycko Landr's _Ninety Nine Entrapments:_  
_My name is death,_  
_And all who hath sought me,_  
_Hath too learnt my name._


	5. Volume II Part 2

**II**  
**RISEN**

**2**  
**Hive Tarsus, Scintilla**

The entire action had been so swift and sudden that literally none of the guards had realized just who it was they were trying to stop - the only indication that anything had been wrong was when the Primary Auditor began screaming over his comm-bead for all guards in the company to come save him.  
Then hard gunfire broke out, confirmedly killing three of the Primary Auditor's bodyguard detail. Hundreds of thousands of investors and traders began panicking across the stock floor. Dozens of isolated shootouts commenced in the midst of the terror, as the numerous company representatives began ordering their guards to open fire on rivals and anyone unfortunate enough to be too close.  
Primary Auditor Ontin Driaan scrambled through the interconnecting halls, certain his hunter was on his heels, constantly glancing back to see if he might confirm this fear. A rarity among Turas-Hie officials, he had avoided the infamous weight gain which affected all other administrative staff in his company, and he was increasingly grateful that his scrawny frame was able to move him faster than his armored opponent...  
An opponent who showed, appearing in the midst of a full sprint from around a corner with astonishing speed, they were athletic enough to chase after him in full carapace armor.  
Driaan yelped as a large-caliber bullet impacted with a floor panel near his feet; for a moment he willed his exhausted body to run even faster, for its own sake, lest he find one of those bullets in his cranium next.  
The Primary Auditor sharply turned down a joining hallway, rushing past a unit of armored Magistratum enforcers who were jogging to the scene of the havoc.  
"Help me! Please!" he cried back to them as they stopped and turned to watch him depart. "They want to kill me!"  
Driaan's assailant appeared then, unrelenting in spite of the enforcers.  
"Out of the way!" Inquisitor Freia furiously shouted, eyes still set on Driaan as he disappeared down a fork in the paths leading into a commerce center. With one hand she held her power maul, and flashed her rosette with the other, clasping the icon between her palm and her hand cannon. "Inquisition!" she barked, putting the rosette away not even a few seconds after she had taken it out.  
One enforcer began to speak, but none of them moved aside; Freia thumbed her maul to the low-setting, and promptly brought it against the talking enforcer's helmet, sending an intense shock throughout his body, exactly as the other enforcers began to open fire in confusion; the electrocuted enforcer fell forward, convulsing, the side of his steel-gray helmet dented - he began a stuttered babble, stuck on the one syllable he had been speaking as he was beaten.  
A few pellets from a shotgun spray hit Freia's arm; in retaliation, she ripped her massive Stormchild from its holster. Five thunderous cracks of the hand cannon's barrel later, and all the enforcers were on the ground, missing kneecaps or huge chunks of leg.  
Freia opened up the ammo cylinder hinge and let the spent cartridges pour out, but shoved the hulking weapon back into its holster in frustration. Pushing her way into the crowded trade floor Driaan had staggered into, she put a finger to her comm-bead.  
"Gerfrid!" she yelled over the voices of merchants clicking away in Goldentongue, shoving her way through the masses. "Gerfrid! Tell me you have a scope on the frigging twig still!"  
"I do, but I can't immobilize him. It's too crowded in here," the sniper calmly said.  
"What about Isnic? Where's he?"  
"Still pinned by the Primary Auditor's guards."  
"Which way's Driaan going?"  
"Eastward."  
"This is the twentieth level trade floor, right?" Freia asked, pushing down a House Krin bidder who had leaned into her path.  
"Yes."  
"Shit!" Freia hissed. "He's heading for his cutter!"  
"Should I move out?"  
"Yes!" Freia said, picking up pace as she began forcing people out of her way with charged swings of her maul. "Hurry over there, try to stop him!"  
"How-so?"  
"I don't know, blow out one of his engines or something!" Freia said, now completely preoccupied with the throngs of mercantilists swamping her.  
Gerfrid slung up his rifle and started to move, but quickly found himself being shot at by autogun-wielding guards working for House Stilintin across the catwalk.  
He slipped out his laspistol; not wanting to risk a shot to the head, he fired out of cover at them without looking. "Change of plans, I'm pinned up here. I might be a while."  
"Fine!" Freia grunted, kicking a gray-robed Administratum Consular. "I'll do it myself, as usual!"

"Hurry!" Driaan hoarsely shouted into the craft, losing his stride as he came up the loading ramp of the craft. "She'll be on us any second now!"  
He scrambled up to the cockpit, where both of the pilots sat motionless.  
"Hurry!" he cried, and shook the main pilot by the shoulder.  
The main pilot's head bobbed back and forth with each push and pull, and came to a rest pressing down on the Primary Auditor's hand. Driaan slowly let go, and quickly realized there was something warm and wet on his palm; he turned his hand over, and found it covered in a thick red stain.  
The main pilot's heavy jacket was soaked with blood from a half-visible gouge in his neck.  
Shaking, the Primary Auditor turned and looked over at the copilot, exactly as she looked up at him through her flight mask and shade-goggles; he sucked hard on the air and backed away, fearing, knowing what was about to come.  
The copilot stood up from her seat, and calmly lifted a cylinder gun towards him as she finished screwing on the ammunition-barrel. The side of her jacket was stained with the main pilot's blood.  
"Oh no..." Driaan whimpered, his knees quivering. "Please, no!"  
The assassin shot him, square in the neck. The Primary Auditor raised his hands to cover the wound as he crumpled over and died on the cutter's passenger flooring.  
The assassin slipped into the cockpit again, and clicked on the power switches for the cutter. The crew emergency sigil began flashing as she powered up the systems, which recognized the pilot as dead; she turned on the primary crew death confirmation, and the throttles at her panel were granted control. She locked the thrust-brake into place, and pulled back on the throttle. Outside, the engines began to scream, fighting against their restraints.  
The assassin shed her wind jacket and slipped out the back ramp as the cutter began trembling from within. She narrowly avoided being bludgeoned by Freia's power maul by ducking backwards as the crackling weapon swung past where her head had been - a hit from that would have ripped the assassin's cranium clear off.  
The assassin immediately spun on the ball of her foot and forced Freia backwards with a powerful kick. The Inquisitor recovered and, snarling, rushed forward, chasing after as the assassin used the momentum of her last movement to begin flipping backwards, further and further away from the Inquisitor; she stopped as Freia came close, rolling in the air, before extending her feet out to kick the Inquisitor in the chin.  
Freia tumbled back, and got to her feet again as the assassin stood up from her landing. "Bitch!" The Inquisitor spat, barely audible over the increasingly loud screeching of the cutter's engines. She charged again; the assassin countered another attack from the power maul by side-stepping and grappling the Inquisitor's arm mid-swing - she used this opportunity to snap Freia's arm back.  
The Inquisitor howled in pain and dropped her maul, but still managed to connect a fist with the side of the assassin's flight mask. The assassin let go and fell over, but quickly scrambled back away from Freia, who had abandoned her power maul when it rolled off the edge of the flight platform.  
The Inquisitor strode over to the assassin and caught her in the midst of leaping up with a kick to the gut, sending her backwards even further; without her weapon, Freia decided she would simply beat her opponent to death.

Security traffic was chattering in from across the Goldenhand - the sheer volume of information being exchanged was nearly enough to overwhelm Lamortes as he guided the guncutter in through the mess of Tarsus's external plating arrays. If the communications were correct, then the combat had moved to a lander bay very close-by.  
Sure enough, as the guncutter rose up to the indicated bay, Lamortes made out the shapes of two people in the midst of a fist fight. "We're here!" he shouted back into the crew section. He peered forward out the cockpit canopy: A quick magnification adjustment of his augmetic eye made Roslindis Freia fully identifiable; her opponent was swaying and dodging about with the stunts of a troupe acrobat.  
Then the Primary Auditor's cutter exploded behind them.  
Freia fell flat on her face, banging her head against the hard ground as the floor trembled and buckled. The assassin managed to put the momentum of her own stumble into a backwards aerial; she landed softly again on the ground.  
Inquisitor Freia did not get up.  
"Get ready to hop out!" Lamortes shouted as he brought the guncutter into the hangar. At the sight of this, the assassin bounded away from Freia, who was now finally coming around.  
As Lamortes spun the guncutter around to let off the others, the Lady Inquisitor, clad in her suit of light power armor, immediately opened fire upon the fleeing assassin with a burst from _Impavidus,_ with little success - the assassin bounced back and forth between each fireball from the plasma pistol, doubling towards one of the dock gateways.  
As the assassin reached her escape route, a pair of Magistratum enforcers appeared in the doorway, shotguns aimed at her. She looked back: the Lady Inquisitor had come onto the deck and now was approaching her with _Impavidus_ aimed and the power sword _Spes_ held downwards; a highly ornate Space Marine and a mortal man were following close behind her.  
"Don't try anything..." The Lady Inquisitor warned.  
The assassin calmly began taking off her gloves, which encouraged a few flinches from her captors. She held her clenched hands up in surrender.  
"Open up your palms. Let's see what you've got..."  
The assassin obeyed - the Lady Inquisitor noticed the wards on the assassin's hands too late; as the blood trickled forth from the scratch wound the assassin had made on her left palm, one word came to the Lady Inquisitor's mind:  
_Shit._  
A heavy blast centered on the assassin knocked the entire group backwards. While her would-be captors struggled, the assassin dug her nail into her other hand, and shortly thereafter, a searing heat filled the chamber; a vortex of swirling, impossible colors appeared before the assassin - it closed in on itself, forming a blinding ball of light. The assassin took several steps back, into cover, as from the ball emerged a red-fleshed monstrosity.  
The daemon was built with a body resembling that of a dog, but its powerful front legs were almost comically oversized compared to its hind quarters. Thick blue veins pulsed across its body. Its jaw was made of gleaming bronze, and half-congealed blood trickled down through the spaces between its metallic teeth.  
The daemon was hungry.  
It made a noise, like both a gasp and a howl, and jumped at one of the enforcers, tearing off his face and then ripping into his neck, crushing his arm at the shoulder with one of its heavy front legs. The other Magistratum enforcer began to push himself away from his screaming partner, beginning to wail as well. He began shooting at the daemon, but his bullets simply entered its body and did not appear to leave any mark. With fresh blood running down its jaws, the daemon turned its eyeless gaze to him, and pounced.  
Heidrich, both afraid and unsure what else to do, opened fire with his las carbine; Moerchen quickly grabbed him and forced his finger off the trigger. "You'll provoke it!" The Chaplain warned, but the daemon had already turned to them.  
Heidrich watched the daemon lean backwards, then leap - he saw it in the air, flayed face lusting for blood; he saw Moerchen, attempting to swing at it with his crozius arcanum; he saw the Lady Inquisitor, toying with a ring on her finger.  
The daemon passed straight through the Korpsman as he attempted to track it with his carbine. He still felt as though it had collided with him; his head spun and ached, and he struggled to remain standing.  
The assassin, however, began screaming. She ran from her cover, reeling, clutching her head and quivering; no matter where she went, the pain did not seem to stop however.  
She dropped to her knees in the open, quickly falling on to her back, squirming about in some vain hope that she would find a position that made the agony cease. The Lady Inquisitor calmly approached her convulsing form.  
"It's over, witch," The Lady said, casually raising _Impavidus_ to the assassin's head.  
Heaving with labored breaths, the assassin twisted her neck to look up at the Lady Inquisitor.  
Then she disappeared.

The Master stepped into the teleportarium's main chamber precisely as Losa Proga came aboard, removing her flight mask and shade as soon as she realized her location; she promptly collapsed into a fetal curl as Vok looked on.  
"When we rejoin with the _Angrboedha,_ tell the technomancers that the miniature beacon is not efficient," the Master said to a hunched adept cowering beside him. "That took far too long to get a proper signal."  
Vok took a long step towards Losa, who was still shivering on the casting platform. "Get up," the Master commanded.  
Still shaking, Losa stood; she quickly crumpled over again and puked onto the deck.  
She fell again to her knees, pushing herself off the floor with her arms. "I don't understand it..." she said through her breath. "That sensation. I lost complete concentration, my summon disintegrated, and my head started hurting. Everything started hurting."  
"An untouchable?" Vok asked.  
"It was worse. So much worse," Losa Proga responded. "And, nobody there was a blank." She looked up at the Master with widened eyes. "The Inquisitor. The one from Hilarion. She was there. She was playing with... with a ring, when I began feeling that sensation."  
"A null-field generator," a gnarled adept suggested.  
"No," Vok declared. "A ring is too small to be a field generator. The Inquisition utilizes bulk units for that sort of projection. Perhaps, just perhaps it was not a projector, a containment device..."  
The Master grumbled contentedly. The glow of his blue eyes seemed to intensify as some ancient sensation awakened within his metal frame. "Very interesting. I think I might like to know more about this Inquisitor..."  
He turned to the door. "Get me a list of anyone who might be interested in a well-paying job. I want to meet this Lady firsthand," he ordered to various menials present, and stepped out.

As emergency servitors began creeping in through service bulkheads, the Lady Inquisitor helped her colleague up. "That was a real embarrassment..." Freia commented. "Glad you showed up when you did, my Lady."  
"Roslind," the Lady Inquisitor said in greeting. "What were you doing all the way out here?"  
Freia took a moment to pat down her dirtied armor. "After Gerben sent in his report on Ludorf's murder, I heard you were looking into the Turas-Hie Amalgamation."  
"So I hear you were gunning down their treasurer."  
Freia folded her arms behind her back. "I took a few looks around with my team and found the Amalgamation's administrative staff was jumping the planet. Driaan was the only one still here. He was apparently too caught up with business in the Goldenhand to leave."  
"So you went after him?"  
"Yeah, he was already set to move out. His lander took some damage coming in so he couldn't leave before a full diagnostic was run. I caught him as he was coming through one of the business floors on his way to this hangar."  
The Lady Inquisitor looked over at the devastation, where the cutter's wreckage had slipped into a hole in the plating beneath that had been formed from the blast; the servitors had begun hosing it down with water. "Did you set it to blow?"  
"No," Freia shook her head. "I only got in here and found Driaan dead. I jumped that punk as she was trying to get away, so I guess she was responsible for that."  
Freia shifted her posture. "So, recent unpleasantries aside, how's life finding you, my Lady? I heard your ship got torn to shit over in the Hazeroth Abyss."  
"We got jumped, big-time. A battleship disguised as a superfreighter. It's the main reason I'm investigating the Amalgamation." The Lady Inquisitor looked back at Freia. "This is rather urgent. So, Rosie, I had a favor to ask of you..."  
Freia shrugged. "Anything for a friend." She placed a hand on the Lady Inquisitor's pauldron. She gestured to the Lady's guncutter. "Come on, let's go talk elsewhere. This isn't the place."  
The two passed by Heidrich, who stared at the Lady's associate: Roslindis Freia was tall, evidently muscular underneath the plating of her special-issue Arbites armor. Her strong-cut face almost seemed locked in a constant glare, as her already sharp green eyes were further intensified by the dark rings around them; her blonde hair was short but yet unkempt - she evidently did not care for it much. She could have easily passed for a man. She reminded Heidrich of the idealized soldiers on the PDF propaganda posters that had been hanging up across the port he had landed on with the Lady Inquisitor when they first came to Scintilla - she looked much more like a poster child Guardsman with her grizzled appearance.  
For a brief moment, Freia met Heidrich's gaze with her own stern, fiery stare.  
He quickly revised his opinion of her.  
She was, he decided, an angel of war.


	6. Volume II Part 3

**II**  
**RISEN**

**3**  
**In orbit over Sleef, Periphery**

The Master admitted he had not initially chosen Sleef as a meeting place. Indeed, it had not been the only choice either; Vok knew of multiple uncharted systems where he could have met with this mercenary, but he had not chosen any of them - he preferred he remain the only one who knew of any such possible nest. An early consideration was to negotiate on the little-visited yet close-by Grangold, but Vok realized his guest would not likely be comfortable over a world watched by two loyalist dreadnoughts.  
The legendary mystique of Sleef was taking its effect on Losa. A week's time spent circling the world, where countless would-be schemers had met their ends, had brought upon her a terrific plethora of unlovely dreams.  
Perhaps most interesting of all, the thinness of the veil brought her into a vague form of communication with other minds, there and elsewhere - especially that of the approaching guest.  
He was psychic - perhaps not as potent as Losa herself, but this mercenary could wield his abilities. His powers granted him an awareness of her looking upon him. His thoughts were as paradoxical as a blade of flame - the innards of his mind writhed with corruption and wickedness, yet remained precise and conscious; it was the sort of thinking process Losa envisioned went on in the Master's head, but he was incapable of being read due to his mechanical constitution.  
She wondered if the Master had chosen this brute because of the similarity; she put the thought away, and promptly steeled herself. The mercenary was coming close enough that he could now clearly see her own thoughts, and she did not want that.  
"My Lord," a sensor-warden down in the operations pit spoke up, speaking both to the Master in his throne room and the bridge crew at-large despite of his specific addressing, "a small vessel has appeared on auspex, just beyond orbit."  
He had arrived.  
"It is now approaching us at high speeds. Shall I mark it as hostile to the gun-units, my Lord?"  
"No," came the resounding, malefic answer. "Vox the ship on minor-band frequency and request the greeting code. Have an astropath send it a trio of pings as well."  
The task of delivering the psychic code was left to Iyrkain, the feeble old psyker cabled into one of the several sustenance cradles fitted into panels in the alcove on either side of the bridge's rear. He was already stirring uncomfortably when the command was cast unto his active mind.  
A few moments passed; then, a vox-warden glanced up at the crew around him. "My Lord, they have responded. The answer is 'Ochre Dawn.'"  
Shortly thereafter, Iyrkain awoke, screaming. Losa watched a bridgekeeper calm him down with a mixed dose of psyko-null and stimm.  
The meager psyker calmed down. "They... have responded... with precisely seven pings..." He struggled to complete his announcement. "My Lord."  
The struggle threw Iyrkain over the edge. He began to convulse; his eyes rolled back into his head; he gasped for air, and fell back in his cradle, producing all manner of sickening noises.  
"Vox our guests again. Tell them to come to starboard," the Master ordered, ignoring the cries of Iyrkain over the channel. "They are to connect at umbilical twelve. Guide them in."  
The same bridgekeeper who had given the psyker the calming injection now gave him an overdose of a tranquilizer, killing him.  
"Losa, go welcome our guest. Bring him down to the engineering deck once he's aboard."  
Losa Proga somberly gulped.  
"Yes, Master," Losa said, and strode off the bridge.

The Master admitted that, like the planet, this particular mercenary had not been his first choice for the job. However, weighing the risks of much more experienced and renowned killers, he had decided that this youth would be excellent for the duties he wanted performed - relatively unknown to the Inquisition, cunning, and incredibly powerful.  
The hull shuddered for a brief moment as the dark red hull of the mercenary's vessel locked into place against the _Angrboedha._ Minutes later, hololithic displays throughout the corridors of the old behemoth made notice of the successful docking.  
Soon thereafter, Losa Proga arrived at the access point; the airlock internal pressure was already equalizing; even flanked on both sides by the Master's honor guard of brutal cyber-partisans, she still feared what lurked beyond that thin metal.  
Ice began to form before the airlock, spreading out towards the reception team like snake-vines. The senseless cyber-partisans were not affected by this, but Losa Proga's laboring breath became quite visible in the immaterial chill...  
And _he_ could feel her apprehension.  
The door slid open, shattering the ice at its edges; the psychic manifestation vaporized as a massive, dark gray gauntlet shot out of the dark within, grasping the edges of the entryway with its pointed fingertips. No longer necessary for the display, the lights within the airlock chamber flickered back on, but much of their light was still blocked by the bulk of the Traitor Marine, hunched over to fit through the smaller gate.  
The Marine stood straight as soon as he was clear of the airlock: He was colossal - he stood as tall as the Master, but his already impressive profile was further-enhanced by the pair of sharply-arched intakes sprouting from his back; the edges of his right pauldron did not match its left counterpart, suggesting it had been scrapped; his boots ended in large metal talons, which he unconsciously balled and relaxed.  
His striking face was incredibly pale; his handsome features conflicted with Losa's preconception of the Blood God's worshippers, but only helped to strengthen the perception that he was completely unnatural.  
He bowed his head and grinned at Losa, amplifying the cold stare he was already giving her. _Scared, mortal?_ He sent.  
Losa shrugged off the feeling of despair launched with the message, and asserted her superiority to him by completely blocking out his voice altogether. "We welcome you, Lord," she said, bowing with a rehearsed grace. She took note of the pack of chained-together humans who followed the Marine out of the airlock. They were completely unclothed and fully emaciated from long abuse. Losa narrowed her eyes and glanced up at the Marine.  
"A gift to your master," the mercenary announced. His voice was light, yet maintained a steady rasp, further strengthening the notion that he was some form of daemon. "These slaves are lapdog-pilgrims. I caught them in a raid before I came here."  
Losa shivered.  
The mercenary glanced around. "Where is your master? Was I not to meet with him?"  
Raising her head again to mend her dignified posture, Losa lightly coughed. "He has gone down to the engineering deck. He wished to speak with you in a place where he could show you the rewards he was offering."  
"Ah, good," Torturer said, his grin widening. "I admire your master already."

Numerous tech-adepts scurried away from the lift column as the whirring mechanisms propelling it grew louder with its approach. After a few moments, a clang from beyond the doors announced the arrival of the Master's guests.  
Vok turned as the lift opened, and cocked his head - the slave-pack was the first group off the lift, being led from behind by their subjugator.  
"What is this entourage?" Vok enthusiastically asked, circling around to the side, looking over the number of the slaves.  
"A tribute for the master of this host," Torturer announced, rattling the iron leash of his captives. "Mortals taken from their journeys in worship of the False Emperor, to be done with as seen fit by that master."  
"Then it is I to whom you pay this respect," said Vok. "I welcome you aboard my vessel, the _Angrboedha,_ _She Who Brings Sorrow._ I welcome he known as Torturer, who bested the champion of the Blood Disciples, who has been the bane of numerous dynasties of Rogue Traders, of merchants, of nobles and the secluded fortresses they hid away in."  
"You know of me, then," Torturer commented.  
"Oh yes." Vok nodded. "I know many things. For instance, I know of the exploits of each of the other thirty-seven Traitor Marines presently basing themselves here in the Calixis Sector, along with their associated warbands."  
"You say you know so much, but I know not of you. I do not know even what name to call you by."  
The Master lifted his head; the blue glow of his eyes dimmed for a brief moment, before brightening. "I am Yrtzen Vok," he said.  
"Then I present you with these servants, that you may do what you will with them," Torturer said, jerking the chain forwards, sending the bound wretches in that direction.  
Vok gestured for a cyber-partisan to lead them off, clicking away instructions to the guard in binary; the cyber-partisan complied, pulling off the pack elsewhere.  
"So then..." Vok held out his arms. "Let us discuss your task..."  
Torturer immediately unholstered his bolt pistol and pointed it into the screen of cables to his side; therein, a single white orb followed him, part of a much larger and cumbersome figure moving through the shadows.  
"Your cautions are commendable, Torturer, but ill-placed," Vok told his guest. "You are pointing your weapon at one of my most loyal servants. Please, put the gun away."  
Torturer watched the Magos for a moment, then lowered his weapon, putting it away again; Sevanar continued her procession, her ocular unit trained on Torturer as long as it was convenient. The Marine looked back to Vok. "So, this job..."  
"A certain Inquisitor has attracted my attention," Vok explained as he paced the floor, examining the various objects and trinkets he had gathered to offer his guest. "I want you to capture her."  
"Who is this Inquisitor?"  
Vok looked back at Torturer. "She calls herself 'the Lady Inquisitor.' She runs by numerous aliases, but they are still recognizable as masks. She is best referred to simply as that - the Lady Inquisitor."  
"And all you want is for me to bring her in?" Torturer asked, raising his brow now at what seemed an incredibly simple task. "Is that it?"  
"Oh yes. That is all," Vok said. "She is traveling with an ally, one Inquisitor Roslindis Freia, who is much less cautious about hiding her trail. You can find the Lady Inquisitor simply by following her, and she is already on her way, following my 'tracks' to a station over Pry." He produced a dataslate from beneath his cloak, and handed it to the Marine. "This contains all the information you might need to track her down. Her ship's identity, characteristics of crew, and future points to catch them at. They're walking along a line I have defined for them now."  
"And what is my reward?" Torturer asked, looking up at Vok again. "You know, surely, that I am very specific in how I accept payment."  
"Of course." Vok nodded, and pointed to the various piles of scrap. "I understand you appreciate pieces of mechanican arcana, and archeotech as well. I offer you as down-payment all of this machinery here, for one..."  
"Go on..." Torturer said with a satisfied tinge to his voice.  
"And I offer you, to aid you in your work, the designs and machinery necessary to construct a teleportarium."  
Torturer let forth a pleased growl.  
"And when you have completed your objective, I will give you your pick of any of the artifacts from my collection. Swords which blast conduits of pure immaterial energy, augmetics which let one feast on the parting energies of a psyker, and conscious guns which will guide their projectiles for you."  
"You must really want this woman."  
"Particular qualities of hers have gained my attention," Vok assured him.  
"You have me, then. I will do this for you."  
"Wonderful. Losa, come with me," Vok said, and turned, clicking away in binary to the cyber-partisans. "You may call aboard whatever number of your crew you need to carry your initial reward."  
The group left Torturer alone amongst the piles of treasure, but the Marine knew he was still being watched. As Vok disappeared from sight, the awkward bulk of Magos Sevanar appeared from the shadows, moving carefully through the wealth of machines. Torturer resisted the urge to pull his gun on her again.  
The Magos's vox squealed lightly, belching forth numerous nauseating tones before finally being configured properly. "I have my own request of you," she said. "I am willing to pay in my own services, my own ability to craft weapons and armor for you."  
Torturer folded his arms across his chest plate. "Alright. State your terms."  
"There is a member of the Lady Inquisitor's employ, one I want you to capture as well..."


	7. Volume III Part 1

**III**  
**TRACES**

**1**  
**41 Pry, Golgenna Reach**

He awoke to the hum of that soft, familiar voice.  
The lady in red was a gentle blur to his sleep-sensitive eyes. Her youthful features were veiled by the faint lack of distinction, but her voice was deeply familiar - it filled him with joy and relief to hear it again.  
She rocked him back and forth, pouring her adoration over him until he could properly make out her red eye and loving smile. She pulled back a stray lock of her silver hair with her gray-gold finger, and glanced off towards the doorway.  
Content, she looked down at him again and began to sing her sweet song - the song she sang only for him. The dulcet tones quickly lulled him back to sleep...

Heidrich awoke again to the rattle of the overhead piping. Reality welcomed the Krieg-born back with cold arms, and he found himself momentarily too groggy to leave his pleasant rest.  
He groaned as he sat up, supporting himself with a single hand against his mattress while he rubbed at his eyes with the other - the lights were on and making him wish he had never woken up. He leaned out of his bunk, almost forgetting there was a rail hanging in front of his forehead from the cot above him: The others were gone.  
Dressing himself, the Korpsman took note of the metal jingling above him - counting the number of clinks made by the pipes had become a pass-time for him in the nights where sleep did not come, or in the days when he found himself waiting in the barrack.  
Yawning, he unlatched the door.

Otokar Isnic did not need to glance over to know it was the Lady Inquisitor's meek little acolyte who had entered: Heidrich's step was made iconic by its orderliness and by its softness, the latter likely being a trait left over from experience with traveling through chem-soaked mud.  
"Well, shit!" The gray-skinned bounty hunter slapped his razor down by the sink and glanced over at the Korpsman. "Thought you'd never wake up, boy!"  
Heidrich coughed. "Sorry."  
"Another of those dreams you keep mentioning?"  
Jan Gerfrid was off on the other side of the locker room, Heidrich noted; as usual, he was not particularly interested in their conversation. The assassin was, however, too polite to ignore the Korpsman outright, and so held up a hand for a brief moment in greeting.  
Heidrich looked back at Isnic. "Yeah, it... yeah, it was."  
"Damn, kid. Talk about lucky. I bet a couple dreams every now and then would be a bit more interesting than the holovids they've got in the lounge."  
Ingrid Hildegarn appeared from the showers then, wringing out her blonde hair with a towel, paying only a glance to the Korpsman's presence. Heidrich stared at her as she sat down by Gerfrid and began taking her clothes from her locker.  
In fact, there was something about Hildegarn which had enraptured Heidrich ever since he first greeted her, when the Lady Inquisitor brought them all aboard the _Wrath of Justice._  
"Hey," Isnic grunted, snapping Heidrich's attention away from Hildegarn, "quit with the ogling, kiddo."  
At this, the lithe and distractingly naked mercenary turned her head towards the two; Isnic cracked a smile at the predicament he had put the Korpsman in.  
"I-I'm sorry, I wasn't-" Heidrich coughed again, as he realized he had a habit of doing at such embarrassing moments.  
"Chill out, kid," Otokar Isnic said, picking up his razor as he turned again to his reflection. "Just go wash up already. Word is Inquisitor Freia wants us up on the bridge, ASAP." He made a popping noise with his lips on that last syllable, which reinforced the sarcastic pluck his voice carried.  
Free from awkwardness, the Korpsman hurried on into the showers. As he passed, he dared glance over at Hildegarn - the mercenary was also looking at him, to his horror.  
She winked at him with one of her blue eyes.  
Heidrich blinked several times, and hurried along.

The _Wrath of Justice_ was not the serene and orderly vessel the Lady Inquisitor was used to working with; quite the contrary - as was to be expected of Freia, the ship was about as disorderly as possible without breaking any real discipline code - it was not uncommon to find crew running through barracks as a routine shortcut to the opposite end of the deck, or for off-duty bridge-teams loitering even while the next shift worked around them. Freia had explained she preferred allowing the ship to run in whatever fashion was most efficient.  
The Captain, however, confided with the Lady that Roslindis Freia used only the sharpest punishments whenever she encountered actual infractions. Once again, Freia had demonstrated her inability to part with her upbringing in the Arbites.  
The ship herself was a manifestation of her master's persona: She was a tough, well-armed warrior, narrowly avoiding a Navy definition of light cruiser due to her being more than a kilometer shorter than the Dauntless-class; nevertheless, the Lady Inquisitor imagined the _Wrath of Justice_ could take the _Valkyrie_ on equal footing.  
_Could have,_ the Lady Inquisitor reminded herself. The _Valkyrie_ was being repaired with the utmost priority in drydock over Synford, but the damage done was so horrendous that, as the original survey had foreseen, the work would take just over a full year for it to even be in a voidworthy condition again.  
The Lady Inquisitor glanced up from her book as the chamber door opened - in stepped Freia's retinue, with Heidrich carefully skulking in-tow.  
Freia glanced over at them as she finished one last press-up, then promptly got to her feet. "Well," she wittedly said, stretching out her arms, "took you long enough."  
The Lady Inquisitor stood up. "We managed to get docking and resupply permission for Station Forty-One by convincing them this is a Rogue Trader."  
"Of course, we'd rather they didn't find out otherwise," Freia added. "So, the Lady and I will be sticking back for a bit."  
"Surely that isn't necessary," Heidrich said. "You two can just disguise yourselves, can't you?"  
"Oh, but we rather think it necessary, kiddo," the Lady Inquisitor said. "So, in our place, the four of you will be donning disguises to track down our target."  
"And what would that target be?" Isnic asked, folding his arms.  
Freia stepped up to the table in the midst of the room and thumbed over a few of the activation sigils upon its side; a hologram of a wanted poster flickered into sight over the tabletop. "You're going to track this piece of garbage down" the Ordo Hereticus Inquisitor told them.  
"Uygur Franik," the Lady Inquisitor explained, stepping around the holo-display. " Wanted by the Scintillan office of the Magistratum for murder, unwarranted distribution of restricted substances, trafficking of proscribed beasts, and unsafe navigation of orbital trade lanes. The lowest of the low, really. When the Turas-Hie administration began to scatter from Scintilla, Franik was contacted by Chair Secretary Tynods Hael. Apparently, Hael was desperate for offworld transport, but wanted his trail to be masked. Getting a smuggler to move you around is the easiest way to avoid being picked up."  
"That is, if your tracker is ordinary law enforcement," Freia added. "As little as a competent Arbites team of Investigators can pick you out of the hiding spaces aboard a smuggler with a full, proper sweep of the ship. A competent Inquisitor can find you before you take off."  
The Lady nodded at the implication behind her associate's comment. "Hael was basically Chairman Ludorf's student. Tynods was going to assume the position of Chairman when Ludorf gave up the ghost, but he is presently unable to take that office, considering he's running as far from it as he can. Reign in Franik, and then we'll find out where Hael has gone. It's clear he's part of this, judging from his little flight. Plus, I think he's afraid."  
"Of us?" Gerfrid mused.  
"I don't know." The Lady Inquisitor's doubt spoke volumes, though Heidrich was hard-pressed to think of anything more immediately terrifying than the Inquisition.  
"This Vok guy," Freia took a moment to stretch, "I can't help but notice he's really got his lackeys afraid of him. It would take a lot to make them want to scatter."  
"That's pretty damn typical, though," Isnic grunted, pointing a finger as though to indicate his employer's words. "That fear-thy-master thing, I mean. I bet Vok's got them all running off to avoid us getting ahold of them."  
"You're forgetting that assassin who beat us to Driaan," the Lady Inquisitor countered. "Given there aren't many excommunicated groups that can teleport a person out of the midst of a hive, then cover up their tracks, I'm willing to put money down that this was Vok's doing."  
"Incidentally, we don't know a thing about this Yrtzen Vok," Hildegarn finally spoke up. "I think we ought to do something about that."  
The Lady Inquisitor nodded. "We're already working on it. Now get moving. Franik hides out somewhere on the station – try posing as a potential buyer of some of his products to get an audience with him."  
Freia clicked her heels - her signal for her retainers to leave. Heidrich emulated the others and left.  
Freia leaned back against the table, watching the group leave… more specifically, the thin Korpsman that kept to the back. "He's an odd one," she said as soon as the door shut. "I guess he's trustworthy enough, but he looks like he'd break under much pressure."  
"I've been trying to pin his personality for a while now. He's ridiculously shy, but at the same time it seems to take a lot to scare him. I'm still shocked he didn't run at the sight of that daemon in Tarsus… hell, I think it would have been more sensible to run in that case." The Lady Inquisitor smiled, and looked over at Freia. "What do you think about him? Aside from him being odd."  
"I think he's a bit too tense, too concerned about leaving a good impression. Didn't you say you picked him up as a compromise or something?"  
"I was told to take him for the sake of his survival. It was kind of a debt to a man I caused a lot of stress." The Lady took a moment to ponder whether the label of 'stress' sufficed for the loss of one's legs.  
"Yeah, exactly. I think he wants to prove his worthiness, but he keeps quiet because he thinks he'll embarrass himself," Freia concluded. "That must be it. Explains his shyness. So there's that, and the fact that he's from the Death Korps."  
"What's so wrong with that? I think their conviction makes them wonderful agents."  
"Maybe, but from what I hear, their lives are all about war. Navigating civilian life must be really awkward for Heidrich there."  
"At the start, actually, it was," the Lady conceded. "If you haven't noticed, he doesn't like to part with his uniform."  
Freia stopped talking for a few seconds, and then frowned. "Ingrid's right, we don't have the first bit of info on this Vok character."  
The Lady Inquisitor shrugged. "I already said, I'm working on it."  
"How, exactly," Inquisitor Freia grunted as she began to stretch out her arms again, "are you working on it?"  
"Don't worry about that right now," the Lady Inquisitor said with a wave of her hand. "Right now, let's just focus on Hael. Start small, you know? When it comes to this sort of treachery, that's the only way we can work."  
"Focus on Hael. Right," Freia returned to her exercises while the Lady Inquisitor picked up her latest book, _The Wailer in the Night,_ and began to read.

Roslindis Freia's operational style generally tended to involve somewhat-open investigations and manhunts, all typically resulting in long chases down alleys and through dockyards; her Acolytes, however, grew weary of the Arbites method of approach, and when operating independently of their master they tended to lean towards acts of subterfuge.  
Locating Uygur Franik's den was simple enough – as it turned out, he had made his base out of a ramshackle series of sheet-metal fortifications within the 'slum' district of the station, which was really a series of primary cargo compartments hanging quite precariously to the tail-end of the station; Franik lived as a proprietor of drink-houses and gambling-holes among the permanent residents, many of whom were descended from destitute pilgrims unable to pay their ill-reputed carriers for further travel. In finding Franik's location, Isnic discovered Heidrich's offsetting attire to have been sufficient to intimidate the superstitious lot, who feared the wrath of a higher power with the arrival of this skull-adorned figure – Franik was a known debauchee, a fact which won him little respect in a town of the Emperor-fearing downtrodden.  
After regathering, Freia's agents decided on their favored two-pronged technique to get in: Isnic and Heidrich would go up to the front, claiming with a criminal's furtive vagueness to have interest in brokering a deal with Franik over shipments of ghostpollen, while Hildegarn and Gerfrid broke in through whatever might be considered a rear-entrance; after some scouting, Gerfrid found such an entrance, and the duos started their operation.  
At this point, Isnic supposed that Heidrich's attire was sufficient to spook Franik's guards, who immediately opened fire the instant the two agents appeared from the gate approach.  
Isnic took a glancing shot to his right shoulder, which lodged itself into the flak padding under his coat, and immediately thereafter he used the force behind the shot to help him slide into cover behind a delivery cart loaded with casks of rotgut on the left, unslinging his Armageddon-Pattern; Heidrich, slightly behind the bounty hunter, had gotten back behind the steel wall which the gateway was built into.  
Light-caliber rounds punctured the steel skin of one of the rotgut casks above Isnic, and he quickly found himself being showered with yellowish brown brew. "That's it!" he shouted; Heidrich glanced over at him, keeping his head in cover while he brought up his carbine. "Now I'm pissed!" the bounty hunter roared, and immediately stuck his autogun out of cover and fired blindly towards the guards.  
"Move up!" Isnic shouted to Heidrich over the gunfire; the Korpsman complied, and ran through the doorway: The two guards had hidden behind a pair of solid-looking rockrete barricades, and were keeping in-cover while Isnic suppressed them. Heidrich stormed forward with a practiced efficiency, getting down behind a similar barrier further ahead of Isnic; as the bounty hunter stopped firing, one guard immediately popped up and tried to aim for Heidrich, but fell back as a las-beam cracked through his sternum, and Heidrich hid just as the other came out and fired a trio of rounds at him. Heidrich immediately fumbled about his front pockets for where he had hid a frag grenade, regretting the notion of 'subtlety' he had been considering when he stripped down his field-kit.  
"Wait!" Isnic shouted just as the Korpsman moved to pull the triggering-pin. "Wait a tick! More of them!" Heidrich leaned out just long enough to see the front door of the building slam open and reveal four guards filing through. Heidrich waited a moment for them to get out in the open before he flicked the pin away and lobbed the grenade out at them. When the blast hit and quick screams slipped forth from Franik's guards, the Korpsman's training took over and he immediately charged out of cover, finding four of the guards dead and the fifth in cover, wounded; Heidrich turned his upper body and fired without even stopping, killing the man with a shot to his unprotected chest.  
Isnic caught up with Heidrich as he stopped up against the doorway. While the Korpsman peered in, Isnic immediately clicked his micro-bead on. "Gerfrid!" he snapped; Heidrich reeled back before a las-round whizzed by where his nose had been.  
The micro-bead's earpiece clicked. "We hear you," Gerfrid calmly said.  
"Listen, we've got trouble! I think they were expecting us!" Isnic explained to his partner.  
"No, we can hear your gunfire," Gerfrid replied. "I have little doubt they were expecting us."  
A shrill cry came from through the doorway – Heidrich had managed to pick off one of the guards inside with a shot on the snap. "At least eight more in there," the Korpsman announced, his voice muffled to an almost insubstantial rumble by his mask.  
Isnic turned his head to the other side. "You getting something like this too?" he asked Gerfrid.  
"Yes. They had a man on duty on both sides of the door. I spotted one behind a shutter on the second story as well, and as far as I know he hasn't moved."  
"You inside?" Isnic asked as he fired through the doorway.  
"Yes. You can't be much more than twenty meters away, judging by the noise. Also, given this place's size and layout I think Franik's got an escape plan."  
"Noted. We'll hurry up," Isnic said, and readied his gun again. "Think we can run in?" Heidrich nodded.  
"Alright, watch my back!" Isnic grunted as he swung around the edge of the doorway, rushing through in a crouched position; lasfire whizzed by precariously close overhead as Heidrich opened fire on the room and followed Isnic; the bounty hunter found cover behind an overturned table and the Krieger dropped down to his left behind a decorative partition – clearly Franik's hideout doubled as a drinking den for the locals, and the severe lack of patronage suggested he really was planning on the agents' coming.  
Isnic glanced up out of cover and counted a good four guards on his side; a set of rounds pattering into the table to the side suggested there were at least two to the left. The bounty hunter pulled a grenade out of his backpack, pulled the triggering-pin, and gently skipped it across the floor; a few moments later, it exploded, and a bloody autopistol landed with a clatter at Isnic's feet. The bounty hunter glanced over at the Korpsman, who had downed one of his two targets, and was keeping the second, a particularly well-armored mercenary with a rebreather, suppressed.  
Then, the remaining guard tossed something out of cover, taking a las-round to the unarmored backside of his arm. Isnic stared with some expression of surprise when he saw the riot-grenade clink between him and the Korpsman.  
"Choke gas!" Isnic shouted as the bomb detonated, spitting out a thick cloud of the most debilitating irritants the Corlon-Tair forges could legally obtain for their Arbites commission; in seconds the unprotected bounty hunter was doubled over, trying to suppress a horrendous cough, and the dark-grey rings around his eyes had taken on a rare hint of red.  
At this point Isnic was now grateful to the Korpsman for being so attached to his uniform. Heidrich had already moved ahead after making sure Isnic was fine, and put a beam into the wounded grenadier's face. "Franik! Find Franik!" Isnic tried to breath, but each heave felt as though there were no air available, and his lungs stung with each inhalation. "Get Franik!"  
Heidrich quickly nodded and rushed down the small hallway in the back of the den, finding an open door to a cramped staircase; further down the hall was another series of doors, which he immediately moved to investigate. The closest room was a storage unit, with a reinforced maintenance hatch sitting open in the center.  
Heidrich's micro-bead clicked. "Second floor is clear," Gerfrid announced. "Target is not on the second floor, and is not outside the premises either. Found Hael... looks like he hanged himself."  
Isnic's coughing immediately flooded the channel. "Heidrich! Franik must be getting away! Look for him!"  
With little better to go by than a hunch, Heidrich slipped down through the maintenance hatch to find himself on one end of a very long corridor. Every few seconds the shape of a mid-sized man flickered against the yellow light cast from beneath a series of grated floor panels further ahead.  
Uygur Franik, the Korpsman presumed.  
Heidrich immediately gave chase, quickly finding his heavy layers of clothing to now once again be a curse amidst the exposed piping and electronics which lined the walls; it was not long before Franik took notice of him and began firing back with his laspistol, maintaining as poor accuracy as he could achieve.  
As sparks flew from bad shots and compressed gas mixtures hissed out of ruptured piping Heidrich attempted to fire back, but was not willing to stop moving, and so suffered from equally bad aim. Realizing he would never catch up as it was, the Korpsman began to unbutton his greatcoat, and forced his way free of the sleeves and buckles, pulling away his helmet and mask and leaving it all in a trail of abandoned kit behind him.  
Heidrich, now protected only by the cloth of his tunic, renewed his chase, blinking away the sweat that dripped into his eyes. Franik opened an automated airlock, cutting the distance between the two in half as the smuggler waited for the door to slide open. Heidrich passed through the airlock and it immediately resealed itself behind him; as soon as Heidrich was through, Franik stopped, turned, and fired off a burst. Three of the smuggler's lasrounds did catastrophic damage to a thick power cable, and the fourth hit Heidrich in the arm like a heavy punch. Heidrich fell backwards, suddenly aware that he felt weightless; intuition initially told the Korpsman he was going into shock, but then he realized he was floating backwards: Franik had managed to cut the power to the grav-plating here.  
Both Heidrich and Franik struggled with the new loss of force, and an unprofessionally incautious step had sent the smuggler bouncing against the ceiling, caught twisting about until he could take hold of a gas line and stop his momentum; Heidrich grabbed onto a bundle of wires, and tried to stop himself. The landbound Krieger took a moment to test his feel for his weightlessness – he saw Franik attempting to swing his way forward, and concluded that he had to do something or lose his quarry.  
Heidrich forced his feet against the front of the airlock, still considering whether his plan would work; he crouched down against the door, pushing back to keep from floating off again… then he pushed forward, letting go of his support, taking on a form quite like a diver making the plunge; Franik groped hopelessly at his gun as it rolled away from him, desperate to reach it before the Korpsman reached him.  
Heidrich collided with the smuggler just as he got ahold of the laspistol, causing him to once again lose grip of it. The two tumbled forward down the hall, banging against walls; they punched and kicked at one-another, Franik desperately trying to break free while Heidrich attempted to subdue the smuggler. Ultimately the Korpsman claimed victory, for he was on top when they fell to the floor in an area where the grav-plates had not been affected by the gunfire. Heidrich tore his knuckle with a knock-out blow that likely broke Franik's cheekbone.  
Panting, the Korpsman got up off the unconscious form of Uygur Franik, and looked down the degravitized corridor – the last thing he wanted to try was carrying his target down that way.  
Heidrich put a hand to his micro-bead, appreciating for the first time the adrenaline-induced twitch in his fingers. "This is Heidrich," he paused to take a deep breath, and looked down the hall: There was a ladder leading up to a trapdoor a few meters ahead. "I've got Franik. I'm little ways off, so I'll try to meet up with you again."  
"Alright! Good work, kiddo!" Isnic said, the rasp in his voice intensified by the choke gas. "Try to bring him back here. You need Gerfrid to find you on auspex?"  
Heidrich rolled his arms in their sockets to try to subdue his combat-high. "I'll try to see where I'm at, first…"  
The Korpsman remembered suddenly that he was no longer equipped with most of his gear - he felt an embarrassed warmth flush over his face. "Can someone pick up my stuff? I left my gear down along the corridor."

Among the things which the agents found in Franik's den, chiefly of interest was Chair Secretary Tynod Hael's corpse hanging from a piece of torn wire; second in the way of attention-getting was a voice-wafer that proclaimed, in a disturbingly deep voice, "they are coming for you – there is no escape."  
A while after sneaking Franik back aboard the _Wrath of Justice,_ dodging any possible associates of the smuggler in-port, the prisoner awoke to find himself bound to a harshly-angled metal seat – it took little more than a few low-power whacks from Freia's power maul before Franik finally broke his vow of silence – which he assured the Inquisitors was on pain of agonizing death – and explained how Hael had contacted him for passage to Canopus; when the message on the voice-wafer arrived, the Secretary had gone hysterical, and the moment he was alone had killed himself.  
After loud praise from the Lady and Freia, the Inquisitorial agents went about their own business again. Heidrich returned to his bunk to get some rest.  
He sat back against the wall behind his cot, holding out Ersabet's holo in front of him; the thought occurred to him that he ought to stop carrying it on his person, lest something damage it during a gunfight.  
The door unlatched, and Ingrid Hildegarn entered.  
"That was a pretty impressive story you told in debrief," she said, catching the Korpsman's attention as she sat down on the cot across the aisle from him, "what with the zero-G tackle and all. I have to wonder if it was true or not."  
Heidrich sat forward, and saw her smiling at him – she was teasing him.  
The surface of the holo glinted in the light; Ingrid looked down at it. "Who is that?"  
Heidrich coughed nervously, and tilted the picture back towards himself. "Ah, just an old image."  
"Of who?" Hildegarn leaned forward. "A service-buddy?"  
Heidrich paused and glanced about the room. "Yes."  
"Can I see?" Hildegarn asked, holding out her hand. Heidrich stood still for a moment, before stiffly handing her the portrait. Ingrid stared at Ersabet's image for a short while, and Heidrich in-turn stared at Ingrid.  
Hildegarn looked up at Heidrich again. "Who is she?" she asked.  
"She was a friend."  
"Is that it?"  
"I guess."  
Hildegarn breathed, then leaned forward off the cot. "What was her name?" she asked, giving the holo back.  
"Ersabet," Heidrich admitted.  
"I see," Ingrid smiled again. "So that's all it was. I just reminded you of her."  
Heidrich sat up straight, hitting the back of his head against the rail: Blue eyes and blonde hair, and the two had very similar faces. "I-I'm sorry if I offended you, I-"  
"Don't worry about it," Hildegarn warmly said, brushing a hand through her hair. "I think it's kind of cute, really."  
She stood up. "You should come with me. You ought to hang out with us in the lounge… don't be a stranger."  
Slowly, Heidrich nodded, rubbing the back of his head. "Okay."  
Ingrid clasped her hands around the Korpsman's own. "Great. Come on, Heidrich. You need to live a little."  
Letting himself be led on, Heidrich decided he agreed with the Lady Inquisitor and Hildegarn on that point.


	8. Volume III Part 2

**III**  
**TRACES**

**2**  
**In orbit near Solomon, Markayn Marches**

The planet of Solomon stood as a major point of importance to the Calixis Sector as a fiefdom of the Adeptus Munitorum. Nearly everything passed through Solomon: Ghostfire pollen from Iocanthos was made into frenzon at the local chemical refineries; weapons from Scintilla and munitions made at Turanshush were checked and stored and distributed; light tanks from Ryboth were painted and stenciled before being shipped out. Along with the fact that the planet was close to the center of Calixis, no pirate was insane enough to dare attempt to raid the Solomon shipping lanes.  
No pirate, save for one exceptionally insane example.  
The _Reign of Agony,_ itself a small and angular raider, was entirely ignored as it came near the Navy bulk-freighter _Silent Zeal_ on the outskirts of the system - nobody in their right mind would try to attack the _Zeal,_ especially with three frigates well within intercept-range. The only acknowledgement made of the _Agony's_ presence was a notation regarding an unidentified vessel skulking outside the system, and an order to investigate if it did not disappear within the next few hours.

The _Zeal_ was nearly prepared to enter warpspace when, quite abruptly, alarms began screeching on every deck. Confusion spread across the entire vessel, and Captain Zantun Komini immediately ordered his First Mate go down with a security detachment to investigate why the Enginarium had set off the ship-wide alert, which was saved specifically for combat, boarding, or warp-invasion. Not long after the Alert first went off, security teams and compartments across the ship began reporting they were under attack:  
They had been boarded; they were fighting; and indeed, the word was that a daemon was aboard.

The bloody teeth of the chainaxe flung gore in a wide arc as Torturer revved its motor; the Traitor Marine broke into a charge, delighting in how the phalanx of shield-wielding armsmen ahead of him down the vaulted hall broke the instant he started. As their number began to split and turn away, the thrusters of Torturer's jump pack screamed, and the Marine leapt, rocketing through the air until he came crashing atop the First Mate, crushing the officer like a bug and splattering his insides across the dented plating. Torturer cackled, firing his bolt pistol, blasting off one armsman's lower leg; the Marine then took a few steps to the side and chopped another armsman in two, and used the momentum to bring it around again and through the chest of the broken squad's sergeant.  
Torturer pushed on, cutting a bloody swath down the _Zeal's_ primary hall until he reached the rampway leading up to the bridge – there, he met resistance from a properly-disciplined defense cadre halfway-up, and there he also successfully repainted his chest plate with blood.

The bridge crew was an expected disappointment, however: They were all officers, and had not even the slightest idea of how to organize and fight, and had been largely still preoccupied with getting the vox amplifier to work so that a distress signal might be sent out – not realizing that Torturer's first order of business in the _Zeal's_ Enginarium had been to cut the power to the vox arrays. Within five minutes of the Traitor Marine's appearance on the bridge, Captain Komini was a messy stain spread over much of the bridge and its staff; the crew had surrendered long before their Captain was finished with, and had simply watched the carnage.  
Torturer ordered several teams teleported aboard while he began raking the bridge for all 'nonessential' prisoners. The thought occurred to him that he should leave someone behind to spread word of his attack, but he decided he would celebrate the successful first test of the _Reign of Agony's_ teleportarium by turning the _Zeal_ into a bomb.  
To that end, the Traitor Marine descended to the Enginarium again while a team of the _Agony's_ armsmen prepared the remaining Navy officers, all of whom were female, for transport as slaves – the thought struck Torturer, as he descended the corpse-strewn bridge approach ramps, that he was beginning to mind less the fact that his men would indulge themselves in the women among the prisoners they took… it also hit him that an increasingly larger proportion of the crews he was deciding to take captive were women.  
He would have to consider what this unconscious selection process meant at some later point, he decided, but his initial thoughts on the subject amused him greatly.  
Deeper the Traitor Marine went into the Martian Priesthood's sanctified area, a place now filled only with red-robed corpses and spatters of machine oil. Torturer's path was determined by the noise of a particular voice on his vox, taking him closer and closer to the plasma drives, until he was in the _Silent Zeal's_ primary fuel storage; there, he found his target.  
Prancing about in patched red robes which had once been the livery of a high-ranking Tech-Priest, Torturer's top tech-adept was hoarsely shouting instructions on the dismantling of the fuel cell racks; all around him were small carts full of canisters, obvious abandoned attempts at stealing the fuel.  
"What is this, Phoeb?" Torturer asked, causing the renegade Tech-Priest to visibly lurch. "Do you seriously think we can haul all this plasma off?"  
Magos-Excommunicate Phoeb turned, then flinched again at the amount of dried blood across the front of Torturer's armor; putting aside his momentary apprehension, he lightly coughed at his master's antagonism. "No," he said, straightening out his robes, "but I've already obtained enough to add another three months to the _Agony's_ maximal voyage time."  
"Three months' worth of fuel is enough. Is there any other cargo you've found that is of any worth to us?"  
Phoeb produced a data-chit from his robes – half of his forearm split down the middle, then lifted back to reveal a massive cluster of various tools within his arm, from which a small snake-like cable with a reader-slot loosed itself and took the chit in the slot's niche. "Let's see… well, while Iden was making a sweep of the main cargo hold he uncovered several dozen crates of assorted small-munitions. In another partition he discovered a large shipment of heavy armor munitions, and buried among a section full of explosives he found several crates of Astartes-grade bolts."  
Torturer growled in approval. "Good. Are the bolts aboard the _Agony_ already?"  
"Yes sir, as well as the munitions crates."  
"Excellent. Now, I want you to do a couple things."  
"Set the plasma drive to explode?"  
"No, actually. I want to make this special," Torturer explained. "A critical plasma drive failure is rare, but it could be mistaken for an accident. I want the Navy to know that this ship was scuttled."  
Phoeb narrowed his eyes, frowning for a bit; his expression suddenly twisted into a deranged smile. "A warp drive explosion."  
"Exactly," Torturer said, grinning as sadistically as his Tech-Priest companion. "Put the ship on a collision course for the nearest watch-station in the system. Think you can calculate things to go off the moment the ship comes within range of that station?"  
"I can." Phoeb nodded.  
"Good. Do so," Torturer said, then spoke into his vox-bead. "_Agony,_ bring me back aboard."  
The Traitor Marine disappeared in a flash of light, leaving his associate excitedly dancing about on his way to the warp drive core.

Approximately three hours after the raider had cut drives and fired retrothrusters to be in a stopping position, and approximately two-and-a-half hours after the _Silent Zeal_ had done the same, a sensor warden aboard the frigate _Venatius Lanius_ had an activity message forwarded by vox to the crew of System Watch-Station Sigma-963: The unidentified raider-type was firing its angular thrusters and main drives and moving to leave, while the _Zeal_ was firing its own angular thrusters and turning back into the system before firing its main thrusters. Watch-Station Sigma-963's augury team forwarded this information to Solomon as per standard procedure, where it would be received in another six hours then processed shortly after.  
The _Venatius Lanius_ soon sent another alert that its staff had determined with ninety-percent certainty that the flight angle of the _Silent Zeal_ intersected with Sigma-963's orbital path.  
Immediately, a general alert was raised; repeated warnings were sounded to the _Zeal_, but each went unanswered, and the staffs of the _Venatius Lanius_ and the frigate _Tordesani_ began considering what course of action to take. Before long, however, both the frigates' crews determined that the _Zeal's_ flight path was going to miss Sigma-963 by several hundred kilometers.  
However, when the time came, and the _Silent Zeal_ approached the station, something bizarre happened: System Watch-Station Omicron-842, deeper into the system, reported that a bright flash of light similar to warp-entry was observed, but then the report immediately broke off into a panicked stream of confused notifications about "odd distortions" and "horrific shapes" appearing along the station's hull, along with the hulls of the frigates, until they broke apart and disintegrated in equally disturbing flashes of light. Then hell broke loose on Omicron-842.  
Solomon later began receiving distress signals from Omicron-842, cries of agony and warnings of warp-intrusion. With no way of knowing what was actually happening, an additional frigate, the _Redeemed_ was dispatched to investigate what had happened while teams began to arrive at the conclusion that the _Silent Zeal's_ warp drives had detonated, and that it had not been an accident.  
Approximately three hours after first being dispatched, the _Redeemed_ was given the order to destroy Omicron-842, which it carried out dutifully upon reaching the hideously-disfigured watch-station. A note was made to alert the Inquisition as soon as possible.


	9. Volume III Part 3

**III**  
**TRACES**

**3**  
**Belacane, Josian Reach**

The information from Uygur Franik ran dry rather quickly, and so Freia delivered the Emperor's Judgment on him, with her typical subtlety, via tossing him out the airlock and into orbit around Pry; before that, however, the group managed to glean enough information to determine that their next step was to search the world of Belacane.  
Reportedly, Vok had made Franik into something less than a slave by means of example: It had chanced that the leader of a smuggling crew Franik ran with in the past had worked for the heretic in question, and Franik found himself doing shuttling work for Vok. Thoughts had crossed Franik's mind about making extra money if someone from the Adeptus asked him to leak intel, but that thought was quickly erased when, after his old boss had done something similar with one of Vok's front agencies, Franik found the mangled head of his associate in his cabin. Thus was cemented a relationship built on extortion.  
While lamenting his misfortunes before the Lady Inquisitor, Franik had made an offhanded remark about pitying the techlords of Belacane, who Vok apparently had in similar straits, as he had frequently been ordered to take shipments of 'stasis field projectors' to pick-up locations elsewhere – out of curiosity, Franik had looked into one of the crates and discovered it laden with ingots of precious metals.  
This raised several flags between the two Inquisitors; they mutually agreed that this overrode the Chair Secretary Hael's importance, and so Belacane would be their next destination… though the Lady Inquisitor insisted that they travel to Canopus immediately thereafter.

The briefing on Belacane confused Heidrich to no end: The world was – if not the sole supplier – among the few providers of stasis field technologies in the Imperium; recent years had seen the forge world mindlessly hoarding stasis projectors and switching its output to weaponry and other lesser goods, with the general result of ruining the planet's economy. The reasoning why anyone in the Tech-Priesthood would commit such politically suicidal actions was apparently as unimaginable to his associates as it was to him. Lamortes, however, seemed to think that the business of Belacane's recent behavior had something to do with Vok's apparent blackmail, on one level or another.

Magos Errant Lamortes held significant sway in the Mechanicus, by dint of title alone – with this, he managed to get the group permission to dock at one of the main transition hubs for Undercity DG-31, the planet's 'capital,' and to stay therein while the supply vaults aboard the _Wrath of Justice_ were replenished.  
Lamortes was at the front of the line consisting of the Lady Inquisitor, Heidrich, Gerfrid and Ingrid – Freia was too straightforward for this sort of work, Moerchen would be severely problematic, and Isnic would need to cover Freia in case they needed to come down as reinforcements; although Maddox had managed to get them a place to rest on the planet, there was nothing he could do to bypass local security – the result had been an unpleasant standoff when the team of Skitarii awaiting to escort them had demanded the Lady Inquisitor and her team turn over their weapons and submit to identity-registration. Lamortes managed to broker a deal with the hub authorities, based on the Lady's status as an Inquisitor, to allow them to keep their weapons at the cost of allowing gene-samples to be drawn from each of them for identification.  
Heidrich was next after the Lady Inquisitor allowed a piece of skin from her arm to be taken for registration; Lamortes need not apply, as he was confirmed with a mere burst of binary to the Skitarii.  
As the medicae servitor wrapped up the sample-site on Heidrich's forearm, he could not help but notice the machine was not actually looking at its work – but at him. The automatic nature of its operation was more than unpleasant, especially when combined with the fact that its head was no more than a glaring skull with its right half covered in metal as an imitation of the Opus Machina. Given the Korpsman's past experience with servitors, it was only more disturbing; he attempted to shrug it from his mind.  
Nevertheless, the thing continued to stare at him even as he walked away… so too, it seemed, did every other servitor in the vicinity.

Magos Biologis Darcy uttered a burst of prayer-code as the alerts repeated across the holo-display; behind him, Magos Metallurgicus Hamilton shifted uncomfortably and repeated the prayer, for he knew something was wrong just as well.  
The readings, Darcy decided, could not be right – there was no way they could be right. He glanced over it again, checked and checked – but the familiarity alert seemed valid.  
"This cannot be," Darcy whispered.  
Finally, Hamilton stepped forward to see specifically what had so-distressed his associate: The names which had appeared on the display brought feelings of the deepest fear to the Magos Metallurgicus' mind.  
"It would seem it has indeed come to be, though," Hamilton grimly announced. "How could we expect anything else to come of what we've done?"  
"But still, she curses us in this way? Sending a clone to taunt us?" Darcy snapped; for a moment, his movements became strained, almost hostile, before he gathered back his composure.  
"We knew that this would come to be, eventually, after all the lying and killing to hide this unlovely little secret. It's fitting that her kin would deliver our retribution," Hamilton turned, and began to step out of the chamber.  
"Where are you going?" Magos Darcy worriedly asked.  
"To make preparations," Magos Hamilton somberly answered.  
Alone now with the masses of servitors in the Genispar's chamber, Darcy looked again at the recordings of Heidrich, and shivered. The Magos Biologis bent over the vox-caster input and pressed the transmission rune.  
"Send a message to the High Magos," Darcy ordered. "I must meet with him at once. And…" He paused for a moment. "Have a secutarion loaded onto a gunship and made ready."

Another point which had been of interest to Heidrich had been the nature of life itself on Belacane, which was to say, the lack thereof: The planet's surface had essentially no atmosphere, for one; worse, Belacane annually passed through an asteroid belt, showering its bare surface with ferro-based rocks in the aptly-named "Season of Iron."  
Naturally, survival was slim on the surface, and so the Mechanicus had assisted in the construction of vast underground hives to facilitate the enslaved work-force. Most of the 'undercities' were composed of little more than a sprawling series of passages connected and lined with habs, but DG-31 was special: the structures of the planetary capital were built into a massive dome dug within the heart of one of the tallest mountains on the planet, and each spire in the structure provided additional support to the whole.  
Given the overhead mountain's composition, no falling meteorite could hope to create a pock mark deeper than a meter against the undercity's shell; even this was rare, as the region was protected by the defenses of the starship repair stations in orbit directly over DG-31, which ensured that essentially nothing managed to hit the area during the Season of Iron.  
There were no windows in the suite Lamortes had acquired for the group; the ceiling was hidden above a complex array of spinning cogwheels, which Heidrich assumed were aesthetic, considering a similar theme was used with the doors, which were also coated with gears; and beneath the glasswork of every table was a similar clockwork, which after some viewing had then led Heidrich to the conclusion that it was meant as entertainment.  
The agents were left to themselves in the suite - Lamortes was off to discuss things with the local Techmages; the Lady Inquisitor had claimed she would be securing additional provisions for the _Justice._ At the moment, Gerfrid and Ingrid were in the midst of a regicide match; Heidrich, not yet familiar with the rules of the game, was looking over his kit, occasionally stopping his work to trace a line of movement among the cogs beneath his las carbine.  
Before long, the door vox chimed; Gerfrid and Ingrid habitually placed their hands on their hidden sidearms while Heidrich got up to answer.  
The Korpsman stopped before the brass doors, looking over the panel beside the frame for the response-rune; finding the proper key, he thumbed over it and leaned in, temporarily recoiling as a second chime blasted from the panel before he spoke. "Yes?"  
The answer was harshly metallic, even over the vox-panel. "Is this suite occupied by the association of Magos Errant Maddox Lamortes?"  
"Yes, but I'm afraid he's not present at the moment."  
"Is the individual referred to as Heidrich present?" The voice asked.  
Heidrich confusedly looked back at his two associates; Gerfrid and Ingrid shrugged. The Korpsman turned back to the panel. "Yes, this is him speaking."  
"Lord Magos Metallurgicus Antonius Hamilton of the City Council of Magi has requested your audience regarding a matter listed as private, secondarily listed as urgent" the voice beyond the door explained. "Would you be willing to meet with him?"  
Heidrich looked back at the others again; Ingrid gave him a quick nod. "Yes, I suppose I would" the Korpsman said.  
"Would you be willing to accompany this unit at an undisclosed time to meet with him at an undisclosed location?"  
"I… I suppose I would be," Heidrich said, somewhat dazed.  
"This unit will return at some time in the next several hours to shuttle you to the meeting place. Thank you for your cooperation."  
Heidrich stood at the door, half-expecting another question. A few moments after the voice had stopped, the door slid open, nearly hitting the Korpsman.  
The Lady Inquisitor entered, hands on her hips. "What was that servitor here for?" she asked Freia's agents while Heidrich closed the door for her.  
"Apparently, some high-ranking Tech-Priest wants to speak to Heidrich," Ingrid told her.  
"Lord Magos Metallurgicus Antonius Hamilton, I think he's called," Heidrich added.  
The Lady raised an eyebrow, and looked over at her acolyte. "My! What ever did you do to get the attention of a Magos, my boy?" she teased. "Anything I should know about?"  
"I don't know, this is the first I've heard of the guy," Heidrich said.  
"So he's just up and decided to invite you to a little social gathering?"  
"The servitor said it was a private meeting. Urgent too."  
The Lady Inquisitor raised her brow. "Hm. Interesting. You'll have to tell me how it goes…" she said, and went off to her room.

As Archmage Daedus, head of all activity on Belacane was not likely to grant audience, Lamortes settled on a meeting with the DG-31's superintendent, High Magos Burke.  
Burke and Lamortes at least had a little history – then again, Lamortes supposed, any Tech-Priest whose career was more than a hundred years old had a history with the Magos Errant. The good record the two shared would at least help to make things quick and efficient, a merit Maddox could not claim he and Daedus shared.  
Originally, Lamortes had arranged a meeting with Burke for an early point of the day cycle, as Lamortes had hoped to search the Templum Mechanican for anything of interest; when the Magos Errant arrived, however, he found that Burke had been forced to meet with another member of the Priesthood regarding some dire matter.  
When their brief discussion was past some twenty minutes later, Lamortes entered. Burke was awaiting him within, amidst the dark-blue light cast by holo-displays built into the floor. Lamortes took a moment to look over the holograms – each an image of some major Tech-Priest in the history of the Mechanicum – and then stepped forward towards the High Magos. The two bowed, and exchanged traditional greetings-bursts in the Techna-Lingua, then rose and informally embraced.  
Lamortes grinned. "It's good to see you, my friend," He said, then pointed off to one of the displays. "When did you ever convince them to add Zeth's face in there? I always agreed to that notion!"  
Burke nodded. "Yes, it looks marvelous. It's fairly new, I'd say about… oh, a couple decades."  
The two exchanged laughter before turning to the altar on the far end of the chamber – light cast by two servo-skulls illuminated a complex array of golden cogwheels, as purely aesthetic as they were anywhere else in the city; it was a display Lamortes always admired on trips to Belacane.  
"What can I do to be of assistance to you, my friend?" The High Magos asked, looking again at Lamortes.  
"I wished to gather some information from the data vaults here," Lamortes explained. "I have come to ask for your permission on that matter."  
"Ah," Burke nodded, "I assume you came here to look into information on our stasis technology. That is, unfortunately, still out of the question."  
"The old man still has a lock on everything beyond his own person?"  
"Indeed," Burke said. "You remember quite well. He shut down all production. He took every scrap of information from every cache on the planet, then shut it all up in his chambers. He still refuses to part with it."  
"That is unfortunate," Lamortes commented. "I hope you don't mind me going down into the vaults anyway?"  
The High Magos gestured to the door. "By all means, you have my fullest permission to go where you will. You are fully welcome here, after all."  
"Thank you, and bless you. I shall come to you with any questions," Lamortes said, and bowed. "Who knows? I just might uncover some scrap the Archmage missed," he made again for the door, and left.  
Alone now in the vast halls of the Templum, Lamortes started for the shipment archives.

After several hours of waiting, the Lady Inquisitor had left the suite to 'run errands.' Not long after that, however, the door chimed again. Heidrich answered, and was greeted by the same voice as before – the servitor took him down out of the hab-spire and to the edge of DG-31.  
The servitor led him into a chamber beyond the rock wall of the Undercity, and bade him put on a void suit located therein; this the Korpsman did, and with this the servitor took him through an airlock and along a cavernous path which led for at least a kilometer before ending in a second airlock. The servitor looked over Heidrich one last time to ensure his void suit was functioning properly, then depressurized the interior chamber and lead him out into the dead landscape of Belacane.

Only a few hours of searching were sufficient to turn up precisely what Lamortes required: Apparently, word had yet to reach Belacane of the suspicion aimed towards the Turas-Hie Amalgamation – that was the only explanation Maddox could muster for the fact that they had yet to delete the damning records of shipments made using Amalgamation services.  
Every entry which involved the Amalgamation was identical: The same vessel was employed to transport the same quantity of stasis projectors, which coincided with information obtained from Franik.  
Lamortes connected a dataslate to the cogitator he was operating to copy the information, and reacted nearly too late when it promptly exploded - the Magos leapt backwards, tumbling over out of his seat, and landed on his backside. The blast had singed his clothing, but apparently had a worse effect on the cogitator tower: The interface mechanisms were completely burnt out, and the screen was shattered. Lamortes immediately ran out of the archive chamber before someone came to investigate the noise.  
He needed to see the Lady: He had a lead now – he just needed to find out what to do with it.

After a half-hour of walking across the snow-blasted red wastes, the servitor stopped in the midst of a valley of rocks; the machine-man knelt, and was completely silent for another ten minutes, leaving Heidrich to worry if he had just been tricked.  
Then, an odd noise became apparent to the Korpsman's ears; through the void suit's vox, it was a faint, electric buzzing, a sound he was entirely unfamiliar with. A few seconds after the sound's onset, a rolling, shimmering shape appeared from amidst the rocks – within it, Heidrich could make out the vague shape of a man of incredible height.  
Then, the void shield dropped, and Magos Metallurgicus Antonius Hamilton was revealed to Heidrich.  
Heidrich took an uneasy step forward in the bulk of his suit. "Are you the Magos?" He asked.  
"Yes" the Magos said. "And you are her spawn?"  
"Who?"  
"Her" the Magos anxiously spat. "She who we have so-horribly wronged. She who we do not name, for respect of the damage we did to her."  
"What are you talking about, my Lord?"  
"You do not know?" The Magos bowed his head. "I see. Are you not here to exact penance on us? To reveal the conspiracy I and my colleagues have enacted for so long?"  
"So there's something going on this planet?" Heidrich took another few steps forward. "Tell me what it is. You must tell me."  
"There seems to be much that I don't understand myself about you. I imagine she sent you here to taunt me, to spite me…" The Magos Metallurgicus approached Heidrich. "Then I'll have no more of it… I am not the monster she thought me to be. I suppose it's only right that I finally make this confession."  
Heidrich cautiously turned his head, an action rather concealed by the void suit. "What's happening on this world?"  
"The truth is, the forges of Belacane are no longer able to produce stasis technology," Hamilton explained. "The secrets of that practice died with Archmage Daedus. It's been decades since we found him dead in his tank. Since then, we've been doing everything in our power to hide his death – Magos Burke was forced to crouch in his cradle and imitate him to the pomp of Scintillan Nobility. Magos Physic Inoti was forced to copy every nuance of his writing to respond to a number of personal requests from Mars. There was a time where I was tasked with killing people to keep our secret."  
The urge to ask simply grew too great in Heidrich: "Why?"  
The Magos stared him in the eye – Hamilton's augmetic lenses glimmered even through the face-plate of his own hermetic armor. "Pride, I suppose. The reasoning is so old, even I have trouble remembering why we made that desperate decision, rather than ask for help. We could have done it ages ago. We were too proud of the former glory we had once held, as the greatest provender of the technology which supports the Imperium. Now we can't escape – we'd have to show Daedus's corpse if we wanted to say he only recently died, and what do you think would be said if we showed the Fabricators a metal-augmented skeleton?"  
Hamilton pointed a crooked finger at Heidrich. "Mark me, that was our greatest sin. Your mother suffered because she protested my command to kill in the name of this secret. We ruined her for it."  
"Surely there's some mistake, my Lord," Heidrich held up his hands, "I'm from Krieg. I don't have a mother."  
"No," Hamilton rasped, "you are the mistaken one, no matter what you may think. This is my time for redemption. In telling you this, I atone for the wrongs I have done, that my fellows too have committed. In our fear for our reputation, we allowed ourselves to be blackmailed by people most-heinous. We betrayed our order by paying sums to a criminal mind so that he would not reveal our foul little secret."  
The Magos tossed a small box to Heidrich; the Korpsman caught it and fumbled with it. "That case contains a data-chit, upon which is my confession. Please, give it to your masters. Something must be done to right my brethren's behavior-"  
Noise traveled poorly in the thin, carbon dioxide atmosphere of Belacane, but still both of them could hear the screaming jets of the oncoming gunship.  
"Get into cover!" Magos Hamilton shouted to Heidrich, crouching as he took a rifle off its sling on his back; the Korpsman began to trudge towards a hiding spot beneath one of the massive rock formations.  
Then the gunship appeared over the clearing: The Mechanican definition of "gunship" was called into question by its concept, as it was a fat, boxlike machine held aloft by antigrav-engines and pushed forward by jet thrusters, with a singular fat autocannon swiveling on a ball-turret hanging from its underbelly. The gun immediately started firing on Hamilton with little accuracy, allowing the Magos enough time to fire off a shot of his rifle… with devastating effect.  
The projectile fired from the weapon with such a loud "bang" that it overrode the screaming of the vehicle's thrusters; the force behind the round was enough to push the Magos back a few imbalanced steps, and then to cause the gunship to rock unsteadily. Smoke had begun to spit from the rear of the vehicle, but Hamilton had missed the turret completely, and the next unsteady strafe cut his arm off while he brought the reloaded weapon to bear; the Magos fell over, clutching the wound as the gunship began to drift forwards.  
A hatch opened on the side of the vehicle's hull, and from it jumped a grotesquely large, pale human, clad in masses of augmetics – its right hand was a large pincer claw, and its left was a crackling power blade.  
The secutarion leapt at Hamilton, smashing his other arm under its footpads before stomping on his torso, likely shattering every bone therein; then, it took his head in its claw – the hydraulics of the pincer hissed loudly as it put as much pressure on the Magos's skull as it could. Unable to properly destroy Hamilton's head on account of the his augmetics and armor, the secutarion simply brought up its blade-arm and cut it free.  
Immediately, the secutarion threw the head at Heidrich, and then charged his position, plowing through the kneeling servitor which had guided the Korpsman in; Heidrich quickly got out of cover, and ran as the secutarion collided with the rock he had previously been hiding under – the entire thing collapsed atop the murder-servitor, but this apparently had little effect on it, as after a few seconds it began forcing its way out of the rubble.  
By this point, Heidrich had stumbled through the iron-rich sand towards the rifle, which was still clutched in Hamilton's severed arm- quickly, the Korpsman pried it away from the Magos's remains, and leveled it against the secutarion.  
Indeed, the recoil was tremendous – so tremendous that the instant Heidrich fired the weapon, it shot out of his hands; he saw the power blade-arm sever from the secutarion, but immediately a sharp agony exploded in his hand, and he found himself screaming in pain.  
The secutarion roared at Heidrich, and then broke through its rock prison and charged at the wounded Korpsman, who was making a feeble attempt to drag himself through the sand and away from it.  
Then, an explosion hit the side of the secutarion, knocking it off its feet; when the hulking monster got up, Heidrich saw that much of its armored torso had been dented inwards and scorched. A second blast punched it again, blowing away a chunk of its body, and a third vaporized its head.  
Through the rock formations appeared Moerchen, holding his bolt pistol in one hand and his crozium in the other.  
"Chaplain Moerchen!" Heidrich grunted, dropping back. "What are you doing here?"  
"The Lady Inquisitor called us down planetside," the Marine explained. "She apparently feared for your life, and now I see why."  
"How did you find me?"  
"I tracked you. Understand, it wasn't difficult, as there is little activity in the air here," Moerchen explained. "Your footprints were still quite fresh."  
"Where are the others?"  
"Inquisitor Freia has Brother Isnic gunning down that craft which left this area earlier aboard the Lady's gun cutter. I assume this monstrosity came from it?"  
"Yeah…" Heidrich distractedly clutched his hand – the pain was horribly intense. "I think we need to get out of here."  
"What were you doing here? The Lady said you were invited to speak with a Magos…" Moerchen's gaze fell upon the corpse, and the insignia upon its armor which marked it as the body of a Tech-Priest. "I see. Come, you'll need to explain what you were doing here later." The Chaplain stepped over, and lifted the Korpsman up onto his feet. "You can walk, yes?"  
"Yes."  
"I will call for Freia to pick us up," Moerchen said, taking up Hamilton's body. "This world is clearly dangerous."  
The two passed through the rocks, then, and left with what was left of Magos Metallurgicus Hamilton.

There was no safety on Belacane, the Lady Inquisitor decided; she and Freia broke their refueling agreement to simply leave orbit as soon as everyone was back aboard the _Wrath of Justice._  
Belacane had turned out to be a decent lead, nevertheless: The shipping records Lamortes had obtained had described Magos Ordinatos Xiatin on Canopus as the man who would receive the shipments of raw materials from Belacane; the ingots Franik had shipped originated from worlds across the Sector, being materials generally required for the production of the stasis field systems – the shipments had never stopped, but rather had simply been piling up.  
Thus the Lady Inquisitor was pleased to find her original suggestion of investigating Canopus now had some backing to it, some direction – and that was now the _Wrath of Justice's_ destination.  
Hamilton's body was returned to the Priesthood, who claimed no part in the attack by the gunship, nor the murder-servitor.

Heidrich was confined to a cot in the ship's medical bay, waiting as Lamortes mended his broken hand; the rifle Hamilton had used was, apparently, rare and prototypical: A railgun, largely unused as it skirted proscription due to the xenotech origins of its basic design… and, without saying, had horrific effects on its firer.  
The Korpsman was under anesthesia still when the Lady Inquisitor entered; Lamortes was resealing the incisions he had made to get to the bones. "You know, it's quite impressive, how durable they make void suits," Maddox said, not looking up from his work. "He smashed his wrist, shattered a couple fingers, but all-in-all, I think he got away without too much harm. I think it should have healed up after only a month or so, given my… expert handiwork."  
The Magos grinned, receiving a smile from the Lady in reaction. "So… what are your thoughts, Max?" she asked, sitting down besides Heidrich – the Korpsman was asleep.  
"My thoughts are that we've got ourselves a very large mess. He was telling me something about a cover-up on Belacane. He was spitting out a lot of names he didn't know," Lamortes explained, beginning to apply a cast-spray to reinforce his work. "I got most of it, though. Apparently, Archmage Daedus has been dead for several years, or so he claims Magos Hamilton said."  
"Is there any way we can confirm any of that?" The Lady said, with a slightly sarcastic twang to her voice.  
"No… wait, maybe." Lamortes frowned, and winced. "Damn. Hamilton probably had a vox-recorder on his suit, but we turned him over-"  
The Magos looked up: Clutched between the Lady Inquisitor's fingers was a small, metal case.  
"Is that what I think it is?" Maddox asked.  
"You bet."  
Lamortes grinned. "It's terribly wrong to steal from the dead."  
"I didn't. He did," the Lady Inquisitor said, gesturing to Heidrich. "This was in one of his void suit's front pouches when he came in. I was just listening to it a little bit ago, sounds like this Magos Hamilton fellow. He was confessing to a cover-up of Archmage Daedus's untimely death, some thirty years ago."  
"Holy Throne on Earth," Lamortes wheezed. "Do you mind if I go listen to it?"  
The Lady held the container out to him. "Go ahead. At the start he was ranting about some girl or something. I want you to see if you can make sense of it."  
"Very well," Lamortes said, and took the chit's container. "And, about Canopus…"  
The Lady Inquisitor gave him an odd look. "What of it?" she asked, her voice low.  
"You were just trying to get justification for going there, weren't you?"  
The Lady narrowed her eyes. "What am I supposed to do, Max? Just leave things be?"  
Lamortes cocked his head, and stared at her for a few moments. "If you say so," he said, then got up and left. The Lady Inquisitor patted Heidrich on the forehead, and then left as well.  
Not long after the two had exited, Hildegarn entered, and took the seat beside the Korpsman.


	10. Volume IV Part 1

**IV**  
**VERITAS**

**1**  
**Canopus, Josian Reach**

The lady in red appeared again. She took him up in her arms, making him giggle as she rocked him back and forth, before she began to sing to him again. For a few moments he closed his eyes and enjoyed the cool, loving caress of her cold gray hands and the sweet tune of lullaby.  
Then the door swung open. The lady in red howled, immediately shoving him back into the cradle before turning to some unseen foe and charging towards the door. The wet snap of broken bone rang against the walls as more shouts burst out; the lady in red grunted and snarled and screamed, and for a moment he could see her fighting with something, struggling, until she was pulled away, still screaming and crying and flailing.  
Then the skull-face stared down at him, and a pair of black hands shrouded the world in shadows as the lady in red cried out-

"Heidrich!"  
He awoke.  
"Finally," came Isnic's throaty growl.  
Heidrich's blurry eyes registered the figure looming over him; he groaned, and slapped at his eyes with a numbed hand, only to find a solid block of spray-cast where his palm ought to be. He dimly remembered then that his entire right hand was still healing after a month. Beating himself with a piece of concrete proved more effective for waking him up than a slap from his hand.  
"Sorry, sorry…" Heidrich said, rubbing at his eyelids.  
"Kid, you really like to sleep. You know that?" Isnic stepped back to let the Korpsman slip out from his bunk.  
"Sorry, I-"  
"Another dream. Right," Isnic grunted, folding his arms.  
Heidrich turned his head to Hildegarn, who sat on her bunk to the left of him. "Good morning," she said to him plainly. "Or evening, as it is where we're going to be dropping at."  
Isnic snorted, and tapped his chest with his thumb. "We," he echoed. "A damn shame about you, though, Heidrich. The Lady Inquisitor doesn't want you going and picking fights alongside us."  
"What?" Heidrich blurted out, and then immediately felt stupid for asking, as the itch of his arm in its cast taunted him.  
"She's apparently got some other work for you. Wants you to stand and look intimidating for her, I guess." Hildegarn slipped off her cot, and held her hand out for Heidrich. "Let's get you into some proper clothes."  
"Alright." Heidrich took her hand in his, and slid out from his bed. Isnic stepped out, leaving Ingrid and Heidrich together, standing, staring at one-another.  
"We probably should get going," Hildegarn said.  
The Korpsman nodded. "Probably," he repeated - the two shared a chuckle, then Ingrid leaned forward on the tips of her feet and kissed his cheek.  
"I'm sorry we don't get to fight together," she told him. Heidrich shrugged, and left the room hand-in-hand with her.

Canopus was a world chilled to its core, where the cold put down anything of excitement. The frigid air of Canopus was only marginally intolerant to human life, but nevertheless the nobility of the world resolved to shield themselves from the planet's air by building up their hives into all-encompassing superstructures, cities built from singular spires. All around the hives were the clustered shanties of the peasantry who, in want of some other labor, were put to work in the local manufactories. A thousand different cultures had sprouted up amongst the downtrodden– tribes waged war for scraps, communities pooled resources for sustenance, and "rubble-lords" attempted to influence manufactory labor with petty unions.  
The bright snowfall covering the village stung at Heidrich's eyes. Deep footsteps peppered the streets, and though the paths were quiet and empty at the moment, the Korpsman could make out, all around him, the work of children at play: small trench networks ran from house-to-house, half-trampled by later traffic, while stocks of snowballs piled up on the edges of the no man's land between the miniature defense lines. Heidrich could not help but smile, though the thought of siege opened up unpleasant memories.  
"Damn me," the Lady Inquisitor said under her breath, glancing from shack to shack. "It was so easy the last time…"  
Heidrich tightened his scarf around his lower face and, not quite sure how to respond to the Lady's mumbling, shivered – she had forbid him wear his "gruesome" mask, as she referred to it.  
"Ah!" The Lady suddenly stiffened, causing Heidrich to place his left hand on the holster out of caution - but the Lady simply strode forward into the deepest snow of the children's warzone, wading through it towards a particular hab, determined to keep her right arm hidden beneath her cloak. Heidrich followed.  
As the Lady approached the scrap-metal shack, the door, plowed clear of restricting snowfall, slowly creaked open: a woman appeared in the doorway, heavily dressed to resist the cold. As the Lady Inquisitor approached, the woman stepped out into the snow, clutching at the cloth of her bosom.  
The Lady stopped a few meters from the woman, slipped her right hand out from beneath the folds of her cloak, and revealed an object covered tight with grey cloth and bound with strings of nylon – the butt of a folding stock stuck out from one end of the cover.  
The woman glanced at Heidrich, and her face contorted in a mix of confusion and fear. "Aren't you…"  
Worried he was misidentified, Heidrich pulled down his scarf. Just then, a man, tired and dirty with machine oil, peered out at them from the edge of the hab's entrance.  
The woman looked at the parcel the Lady carried, and her features twisted into an expression of pure horror; she heaved, and collapsed into the snow, sobbing, crying, all the while watched by the man in the doorway.  
For what seemed minutes, the other three among them stood still, watching wordlessly as a mother cried for her son.

Alarms started blaring the instant Freia took the face off the Skitarius with a high-setting swing of her power maul. The tech-adept standing by immediately turned and fled, yowling in fear while the Inquisitor began swinging the maul at the manufactory gate.  
"You sure there's no other way in?" Freia shouted back at Gerfrid; the assassin simply shrugged. "Try to find one, then! You and Ingrid, you both go find some other entrance!"  
A team of Skitarii, armed with hellguns, opened fire on them from an alcove to the left, forcing Freia's team to cover.  
"Forget it!" The Inquisitor shouted. "Oto, get a grenade on them already! That's our way in!"  
Isnic tugged on Ingrid's coat as he leapt to his feet. "Cover me!" he shouted to her and stormed forward. Hildegarn shouldered her autogun and began firing on the red-robed augmetic soldiers, catching one with a shot to the abdomen before the rest ducked into the buttresses along the building's wall. Isnic pushed on, ignoring the las-fire bearing down on him. He pulled a frag grenade from his belt and, popping the pin off with his thumb, tossed the explosive, hitting one of the Skitarii square in the face with it before it detonated.  
All that remained of that first squad of reinforcements were scattered bodies wrapped in red rags. Inquisitor Freia immediately seized the chance, running across the snow to where the Skitarii had appeared from. "Let's go, let's go!" She shouted back at her team.  
Hildegarn hesitated for a moment, half-expecting more resistance to emerge from the alcove, but complied, falling in between Isnic and Gerfrid as they pushed on into the fane of Magos Ordinatos Xiatin.

Heidrich felt more uncomfortable than he could remember ever being. The husband of the crying woman had calmed his wife down to a point where she agreed to at least relocate her weeping to the living space within the hab; as his wife had stumbled back in, hunched over and still breathing heavily, the man had asked the Lady and Heidrich to enter.  
A fire burned in a makeshift hearth on one wall, connected by a hose to a fat promethium canister, but the flames did not seem to be able to heat the room, even with the warmth which had escaped while the door had been open – there was no real insulation to the building.  
Now seated by the fire and covered with a heavy blanket, the woman, her face raw-red as she desperately rubbed away her tears before they could freeze, attempted to bring her breath under control. "I thought-" she spat out, before pausing to once again heave. "Santi was a good boy, he – no matter what people he was around, he-" she moaned, and buried her face in her blanket.  
The husband came over and handed the Lady and Heidrich each a steaming steel mug. "Warmed amasec," he told them as he sat down by his wife. "Kept it stored for years. At any rate, I guess my wife and I want to know, your grace…"  
He looked up at the Lady Inquisitor, and narrowed his eyes. "We… we want to know how it happened." Immediately, he remembered himself, and cleared his throat. "And - and you have our thanks for bringing back the lasgun. It's… all we have of him, now."  
The Lady nodded. "I know."  
The wife looked up at them, attempting to say something – and finally she did. "Santi found that gun… he found it out in the junkyards by the manufactory. Did he tell you that story? He brought it home and - and for months he worked and worked on it. He… he said he'd use it to help keep us safe, he always did."  
The Lady nodded again. "I know."  
Heidrich hid his confusion by lifting his scarf back over his mouth then staring down into his mug.

Hildegarn was beginning to lose her patience with crowds.  
The suddenness of the group's attack had sent the manufactory's labor force into something akin to a riot: crowds pushed and pulled at one-another, limbs flailing madly, shadows flickering against the hot glow of munition presses and open furnaces. The poor lighting and confusion made the process of picking out a target's location nightmarish.  
Powerful las-beams cut through the crowds, determined to chance upon Freia's group; Isnic opted to simply toss his grenades indiscriminately in the general direction of the gunfire's source. Metal screeched and more people screamed as an explosion sent body parts – both natural and artificial – spraying out about the manufactory floor.  
More las-fire streaked through the air, from multiple directions. Freia resorted to shouting vague orders as she pulled her Fatebringer from its holster and fired into the gloom. Amidst it all, Hildegarn began to question the point of her own presence – she was an infiltrator, so she told herself, not a raider. Then her thoughts turned to Heidrich…  
Hildegarn narrowly avoided a las-beam to the face, and cursed herself for being careless before opening fire in her assailant's direction.

After several minutes, the husband spoke up again: "how did it happen?"  
"I can't tell you," the Lady Inquisitor said, softly.  
"What do you mean you can't?" the wife snapped.  
"Alina, please don't," the husband said weakly.  
"What do you mean, 'don't,' Mal?" the wife hissed. "This is our son we're talking about!"  
Heidrich dared look up as the husband turned his head to the Lady again. "I understand your secrecy, and I am sorry for questioning it, but please… we wish to know," the husband said.  
"I told you, I can't…" The Lady repeated, eliciting a sigh from the husband. "Your son died heroically," she tried to explain. "I would have his name carved into the base of the Golden Throne as tribute to his valorous-"  
"What will that do for us?" the wife screamed, leaning forward, wincing at the Lady, who bowed her head. "I want my son back! I want my baby Santi back!"  
The wife looked at Heidrich then. "And who is he? Is that supposed to be my son's replacement?" her words had taken on a hateful tone; Heidrich looked away, unable to bear the sight of her. "How could you do that? You come here and call our Santi a hero-"  
"Alina," the husband called.  
"- And at the same time you come here and you mock us with the next person lined up to do your filthy work!"  
"Alina!" the husband shouted. "You're yelling at an Inq-"  
"I know what I'm yelling at, Mal!" the wife cried. "I'm yelling at the person who killed our sweet, darling boy!"  
"I beg you hear me, Inquisitor, grant us mercy." The husband looked over at the Lady, who lifted her head again – she had managed to keep a stony face through the bout. "My wife knows not what she says, she is riddled with grief, she means no disrespect-"  
"I mean every word of what I say!" the wife howled. "I mean it! This woman is dirt!"  
The Lady Inquisitor looked away. "I'm sorry," she gasped.  
The wife was quiet for a few seconds, then. Heidrich looked from her, to her husband, to the Lady, before it started up again:  
"Get out," the wife demanded.  
The husband lifted a hand towards her. "Alina, you can't-"  
"Get out!" the wife screamed; the Lady Inquisitor complied, and stood up, followed by Heidrich. "I never want to see you again! You murderer! You monster!"  
The insult-throwing continued as the Korpsman and the Lady stepped out into the snow. The two could hear the woman's screaming even as they retreated away from the block.  
After a few minutes of walking the Lady stopped, and took a deep breath. "I brought you along, kiddo, because I felt you needed to see that," she said.  
"Why?"  
"So you know how lucky you are," the Lady somberly told him. "You don't have anyone that will get that worked up over you when you die."  
The Lady Inquisitor's pessimism was painful to the Korpsman. "Who was Santi?" he asked her.  
"Santi…" She sighed and looked up at the grey sky. "Santi was one of my acolytes in the investigation leading up to the Trojus affair. While your regiment was besieging the city, I went into its heart and killed a daemonhost responsible for controlling the minds of the civilians."  
The Lady looked around, as though to make sure nobody was watching them. "In the thick of the fighting, I got separated from my team. Santi saved Lamortes from his own demise by getting the daemonhost to chase him. By the time I arrived, he was..." She closed her eyes and shook her head.  
"You didn't punish those people back there," Heidrich pointed out. "Don't you have the authority to do so?"  
The Lady stopped, and turned to Heidrich, giving him a soft, fake smile. "Kiddo, when your friend was executed, did you not feel any anger?"  
Heidrich thought on it for a moment, then shook his head.  
"No animosity towards the Korps, for what they did?"  
"Not that I can think of, no."  
"You're a rarity then, if that's the case." The Lady Inquisitor started walking again. "When a mother finds out her child's been killed, she can react in many ways… I don't think it quite right to deny them their grief."  
She looked over at Heidrich. "Just understand how fortunate you are that you have nothing… nobody to lose."

Freia had been planning on finding the Magos locked away up in his sanctum, cowering feebly as they broke in to take him captive - that had been her mistake, for the man-machine which burst through the brass gates into the hallway, stomping on metal hooves, shoulder-mounted heavy stubber firing, was no weak old man.  
Freia went to ground as the stubber opened upon her squad, but Gerfrid had not been so lucky: a spray of large-caliber bullets tore apart his leg at the midthigh, forcing him to the floor. Isnic was grazed along his forearm, his flesh saved by the carapace plates sewn into his hide-coat's sleeves.  
Freia slinked from the weapons crate she had initially gotten behind and into place behind one of the support ribs along the wall. Almost immediately, however, she was forced out to the open again as a grenade, launched from an arm-mount on Xiatin's exosuit, came flying at her – the Inquisitor tucked and rolled as the explosive detonated and sprayed shrapnel where she had been hiding, and immediately her carapace absorbed another string of hits from the stubber before she could get back to her feet and dodge.  
Xiatin's aim turned away from Freia as she sprinted to cover behind another support rib even closer to him; she glanced back over her shoulder in time to see the gunfire rip into Hildegarn, before a bright streak from yet another weapon on the Magos's exosuit took the flesh off the mercenary's face while she was twisted to the side by the stubber-fire; the end result of the beam's path was a wall, which promptly disintegrated into nothing.  
"Conversion beamer!" Freia shouted, now thoroughly desperate as the conversion beam projector's recharging reactors whirred – how a forge world Magos had managed to get his hands on such a weapon only panicked her more.  
Gerfrid, having dragged himself to one of the crates, propped his sniper rifle up atop the container and took a shot which put a hole in the projector's upper rail and tore open one of the coolant hoses running along the body of the weapon. The beamer's connections to Xiatin's exoskeleton popped out almost immediately thereafter and the weapon was ejected from its mount, spilling coolant across the floor before finally dying without energy to feed its building reactions.  
The Magos apparently had not calculated for the shift in weight-distribution, and nearly fell over once the damaged projector was free from its carriage on the underside of his arm; Freia took the opportunity to charge before his stubber's targeting could track her, and first took off the suit's arm and the Magos's hand with a swing of her maul, then destroyed the right leg's joint motors and Xiatin's foot. The exosuit toppled over, but Freia continued to disarm it, breaking off guns she had not even anticipated to find on it: a needle rifle, a shotcannon, a meltagun, and a flamer which she paused to damage just before she made the mistake of fracturing its fuel canister.  
The Magos finally lifted the mess of wires which had once been his right hand through his body-cage, and wheezed.  
"I surrender," he rasped, "please, I surrender."  
Freia stopped, and staggered back. Satisfied that Xiatin seemed to be rendered completely defenseless, she looked back at the mess which had once been her team: Gerfrid was attempting to stop the flow of blood at the stump of his leg while Isnic attempted to apply a spray of synth-skin to stop the bleeding.  
Only then did Freia focus on the pool of blood where Hildegarn lay, and her heart sank.

Santi had been one of the Lady Inquisitor's favorite retainers, so she told Heidrich. Although he had never been quite comfortable beyond the dead cold of Canopus, he had consistently proven himself to be one of the most devoted members of her team.  
Santi had done much of the wetwork which led to the daemonhost Iraktalh; Santi had caught the corrupt planetary governor of Tanthos before he could escape his palace; Santi had saved the Lady Inquisitor from an ambush in the low alleys of Scintilla's Gunmetal City; Santi had gone back in a burning Sororitas Convent to pull out his trapped comrades…  
"Santi was…" The Lady sighed. "I guess you could call him the everything-man. He was loyal and understanding, stoic and strong… I picked him up out of necessity – when I took the Iraktalh case I realized Moerchen, Maddox and I wouldn't cut it, so I dropped down to the first planet I could find, and… well, Santi happened to be the first one I picked up here. Not the most promising, but the first."  
The Lady and Heidrich neared their Chimera, which had been parked on the edge of the shanty town, on the very outskirts of Hive Canin's trafficking lanes.  
"To tell you the truth, Heidrich, I still don't feel right about what became of him," said the Lady. "He didn't have much in the way of aspiration. He viewed his work with the Inquisition as a public duty, and much as I wanted to see him be my Interrogator, he decided he wanted to instead go home after everything was done with."  
The Lady Inquisitor hesitated to continue speaking, and motioned to the Chimera. The two approached the vehicle, and got aboard – the driver, one of Freia's staff members, awaited them.  
"Port, please, and close the divider," the Lady ordered. Once the driver complied, she looked over at Heidrich across the aisle.  
Feeling obliged to say something, Heidrich spoke next. "So what happened?"  
"When I came to finish the siege of Trojus and kill Iraktalh, Santi and the rest of my team came with me," the Lady told him. "We wound up getting separated when we tracked the daemon down to a manufactory block, and Santi and his group got to it first, and made it chase them down rather than Lamortes."  
The Lady grimaced, and her eyes took on something of a hooded look. "When I reached them, I…" She looked around the compartment, shifted uncomfortably, then took a hard breath. "I found Santi covered in blood. It looked like he'd been chewing on the jugulars of his fellows. He had been driven genuinely mad by the daemon in that short window of time."  
Heidrich sadly frowned, for he knew what the Lady was trying to justify.  
"I had no choice but to put him down. He tried to kill me…"  
For the duration of the trip back to the port, the Korpsman said nothing in response to the Lady's confession.

When the Chimera rolled up the dock ramp where the shuttle from the _Wrath of Justice_ had landed, the driver slid open the passenger divider, catching Heidrich and the Lady's attention.  
"The shuttle's not here, my Lady," the driver announced.  
The Lady Inquisitor got up from her seat and stepped up against the compartment door. "What?"  
Sure enough, a quick peer through the Chimera's forward viewport revealed that the lander was not present on the pad.  
"Why the blazes did they not tell us when we were coming in?" the Lady frustratedly asked.  
The driver shrugged. "Odds are they were too damn lazy to do so."  
A knock came at the rear hatch, then. Heidrich got up from his seat, stub revolver out, and released the rear-locks; when the door opened, the skull mask of a Space Marine Chaplain peered in at them.  
"My Lady," the Chaplain said.  
"Moerchen!" the Lady Inquisitor shouted across the compartment. "Cut the engine," she said aside to the driver, then stepped down the aisle nearer the Marine. "Where's the lander at?"  
"Inquisitor Freia called for extraction at the Xiatin manufactory," Moerchen explained.  
"How long ago was this?"  
"About twenty minutes past."  
"The manufactory's clear out in the far-edge of the hive outskirts, so its total flight-time would probably be within that range…" The Lady Inquisitor pondered this for a moment, then looked up at the Chaplain again. "That means we should have seen them coming in, unless they stopped somewhere in-between."  
"What shall we do, then?" Heidrich finally spoke.  
The Lady sat back down. "Not much we can do, aside from wait," she said. "If something happened to the lander in-transit, we'll find out."  
Moerchen grunted in approval, then stepped away from the Chimera door.

After a half-hour, the lander dropped down onto the platform, loading bay open, with Isnic beckoning the Chimera aboard from along the side, shouting to them indiscriminately beneath the wail of the craft's thrusters. The driver simply complied, started up the Chimera's engine again, and rolled up into the lander's hold; Moerchen followed it on, and the hold's mouth shut behind him.  
The Lady Inquisitor and Heidrich stepped out of the Chimera then while the driver hopped out of his top-hatch and set to work chaining the vehicle to the floor of the craft. Immediately, Heidrich looked over the seats for Hildegarn - instead, he found only Freia buckled in, sitting as though terribly uncomfortable and bearing an unusual expression of sullen anger.  
"I botched this one," Freia called to her peer.  
"What do you mean, Roslind?" the Lady asked, stepping up to a seat beside Freia; the ex-Arbitrator only shook her head.  
Heidrich became restless when he caught sight of Gerfrid sitting grimly across the hold, missing his leg below the knee. "What happened?" the Korpsman asked.  
"Magos Xiatin's in the prisoner compartment," Freia said, tilting her head in the direction of a door marked with the word "ward" above it. "Gerfrid lost his leg to heavy stubber-fire. We had to book it before any more Mechanicus personnel came on the scene to save the Magos…"  
"What about Ingrid?" Heidrich asked.  
Freia lowered her head and looked away from him.  
Isnic grunted as he took a seat besides Heidrich, tugging at the Korpsman's coattail to do the same. "You better buckle in, kid, before we take off again."  
Heidrich complied, but persisted. "What happened to Ingrid?"  
Isnic exhaled deeply. "She's dead, most likely."  
Both the Lady and Heidrich immediately looked over at him. Moerchen, braced against a guide rail in the back of the hold, slowly turned his head at the statement.  
Heidrich, trying to mouth a phrase, looked in disbelief to Freia; the Inquisitor finally looked at him – her eyes had reddened at their edges. "She was breathing, so we ran her and Gerfrid to a hospice in the hive, but…"  
The lander's thrusters screamed outside the hull as the craft took off again.  
"Gerfrid was fine enough to be released after getting some emergency antisept and bandaging," Isnic said in a rare tone of somberness. "Hildegarn was in critical condition, and we needed to leave before Xiatin's force hunted us down. So we left her." The frown on the grey-skinned man's face deepened. "Her heart had stopped by the time we left. She's dead, Heidrich."  
The Korpsman slowly turned his head to stare down at the floor, and let his back hit against his seat. Quickly, all other noise dissolved from his ears besides the howl of the thrusters.


	11. Volume IV Part 2

**IV**  
**VERITAS**

**2**  
**Fenksworld, Josian Reach**

A popular joke among Scintilla's nobility was that Fenksworld answered all questions. The implications were dubious, and the Lady Inquisitor had assigned more than a few observation warrants to equally questionable figures for its citation.  
The Lady found herself reminded of the saying as Commissar Audes took a seat across from her, his gleaming new augmetic legs lightly whirring. The Lady had sought more answers to more questions on Fenksworld than Freia thought, and upon coming to Fenksworld, she discovered they could be answered.  
"I suppose you'll want to skip the formalities," Audes said.  
The Lady shook her head. "No need. I have plenty of time… as do you, I imagine."  
"Plenty of time wasted before it even comes." Audes shifted in his seat. "Though, I got permission from the Commissariat to execute the idiot who made my regiment a human mine-sweep. That's today, so I do have to leave at some point."  
"What happened?" the Lady tilted her head, though she remembered to nod to the serving woman who put her recaf down on the table.  
"Like I said, the General who was in charge of our most recent combat sent them into a no-man's-land surrounding a fortified super-fortress." Audes took his rotgut without a word to the serving lady. "The word is, the Munitorum intends to permanently retire the fifty-something troops that remain here in Calixis. Fifty! Fifty Korpsmen, confused and unfamiliar with civility, all of them just tossed out after receiving the biggest insult of all: failure."  
"Sounds like someone I know, from about a year ago."  
Audes was about to put his drink to his lips when the Lady said this. "How is Heidrich?" Audes asked, putting his bottle back down.  
"He's fine, for the most part. It's too long a story to describe, really," the Lady Inquisitor told him. "But I wanted to know a few things about him…"  
Audes narrowed his eyes. "What makes you think I know anything about him?"  
"You seemed to be quite obsessed with his wellbeing when you offered him to me." The Lady took a sip from her recaf. "Logic would suggest you know more about him than you let on, otherwise I suspect you would have put an end to him yourself."  
"Let it be clear, first of all, that my judgment is not stained by any act of favoritism."  
The Lady held up a hand. "I understand, and I wasn't implying any such thing."  
Audes eased back into his chair, and sighed. "Very well. Yes, I do know a lot about him. Colonel von Klauser, when he was still alive, kept an extensive record on the boy's past." When the Lady Inquisitor raised an eyebrow at this name, Audes leaned forward. "That was the Colonel who was in charge of the regiment before dying during Trojus."  
"Right." The Lady took another drink from her recaf and crossed her legs. "Why would he take such an interest in Heidrich?"  
"As it turns out, Herman von Klauser was old. Very old. I think somewhere in the range of forty to sixty years. It's rare to live to his age among Kriegers," Audes explained. "Anyway, his age meant a lot of things. For starters, he had been in command of three whole regiments before he was put in charge of guarding one of Krieg's cloning facilities. He had a lot of respect for being a bit more competent than the usual Krieg commander. Mind you, some troops viewed him with suspicion, as no proper Korpsman could possibly live so long if he 'did his duty to the Emperor' and charged a battletank."  
"Go on," the Lady urged.  
"Well, one day in that cloning facility," Audes shifted in his seat, "A couple adepts looked at the logistics and noticed a clone was missing from indoctrination. This could have represented a severe security situation, so von Klauser immediately devoted himself and his team to it.  
"Turned out, one of the Enginseers had kidnapped the clone, a wee infant, before he could be given an identification number. The Tech-Priest heavily resisted the security team which came to take the clone away, even snapping one's neck and stabbing another."  
The Lady's eyes widened at this. "Why the blazes did he do all this?"  
"Not 'he'," the Commissar corrected, and drank from his bottle. "But _she._ As it turned out, the Enginseer had desperately wanted to have her own child, in spite of its nature as heresy to the Mechanicus. Von Klauser spoke to her at-length on the matter, and, apparently swayed, agreed to take care of the baby. That infant wound up becoming our Heidrich. Technically, he failed to achieve numerous parts of the Korps's indoctrination standards. Technically, he should have been culled before he could waste any more resources. But von Klauser made sure he became a soldier, and took him on as an adjutant when he got a command post again."  
The Lady Inquisitor uncrossed her legs and leaned in. "Who was this Enginseer?"  
Audes paused for a moment, thinking. "I can't rightly remember."  
The Lady sighed.  
"But, I do have the original file with all the info von Klauser kept. I saved it from his quarters on Trojus," Audes told her. "He really liked to keep it with him. I can only assume that this Tech-Priest was convincing, because you'd certainly have to be in order to have gotten von Klauser to break his convictions like he did."  
"Can you give me the file?" the Lady asked.  
Audes held up his hands. "I'm afraid I don't have it on me at the moment."  
The Lady grinned. "Don't be sly with me," she joked. "Where do you have it?"  
"Back at my billet, over in the local garrison."  
"Then I'd be grateful to you if we could run and get it."  
The Commissar grunted with a slight pain in his legs as he stood up. "Certainly. I have to say, I'm surprised you've taken such an interest in the boy."  
"He's proved to be more help than you can imagine," the Lady said as they walked.  
"Then I can only say thank you for taking care of him. I knew he could be something."

"Where is the boy?" Moerchen asked as he ducked through the doorway.  
Isnic was on the floor, shirtless, performing his exercises; Gerfrid sat cleaning his weapons; then there was Lamortes, who was reading over books – mounds of books, volumes he had acquired that day at a local librarium.  
"Heidrich is helping offload things at the port," the Magos distractedly responded, turning the page of a fat tome on local history.  
The Chaplain grumbled with dissatisfaction, and slowly stepped into the room. "Yet again he evades my words."  
"The boy needs time alone, I feel," Lamortes said.  
"He has had nearly two weeks alone." Moerchen glanced around the room, trying to gauge what the others were doing, then back at Lamortes. "There is a time when we reach the maximum of what we can individually do for ourselves. I would seek to help him with his troubles."  
"I'm impressed a Chaplain would care so dearly about a mortal," the Magos noted, shutting the book.  
Moerchen straightened out his pose, and put his hands behind his back. "The common man has greater need of my words than Space Marines. We are desensitized to these sorts of things, we draw strength from seeking the vengeance of our fallen comrades... but Heidrich is no Marine. He has been through much these last few months. He deserves counsel."  
Lamortes chuckled. "As ever, Chaplain, you do not cease to amaze me."  
Moerchen did not respond to this. "When do we anticipate him to return?"  
"He'll be back with the Lady," Isnic grunted as he sat up on the floor.  
"And when is the Lady anticipated?"  
"She called, not too long ago, to say she was on her way."  
Moerchen turned his head. "I do not understand why she did not call upon me."  
"Because you would draw attention," Lamortes told him as he put the books aside. Equal parts amused and irritated by this response, the Chaplain sank to the wall, and began praying.

Twenty-five years ago, the Enginseer Atrielle Sevanar was exiled from the Calixian world of Belacane; the Magi there had concluded her resources and aptitude were best-used on Krieg, in the far-off Segmentum Pacificus, but had placed a very major note on her relocation forms for the Administratum's benefit: _Weak of the Flesh._ When word of this reached Omniprophet Tarashik on Scintilla, his conclusion was that this rather infamous message referred to doubts of Atrielle's loyalties, as her sister, Magos Lunelle Sevanar, had already been excommunicated.  
Atrielle, von Klauser had vouched in his writing, was a woman of incomparable brilliance: she had, on three separate occasions, repaired critical failures in the flesh-vats which would have cost the Death Korps fifty fetuses; another day, she had managed to awaken the machine-spirits of an entire unused birth-hall, thus enabling the Korps to swell with even greater numbers.  
All of the Enginseer's successes paled in comparison to the spit upon protocol she would become so reviled for, however. One day, a rare cell-culture believed to be from Colonel Jurten, the legendary Guard commander who had ordered Krieg incinerated in nuclear flame, turned up missing, and was never found again. Security was baffled, and a conclusion was reached that the culture had been accidentally used to fertilize one of the flesh-vats.  
The truth of the matter was, however, that Atrielle had stolen the culture. All her adult life, the sterile Atrielle had yearned to be a mother – it was one wish which the Adeptus Mechanicus had horribly failed to quell. As she had the authority to choose what genetic templates would compose the parents of each Krieger, she filled one specific flesh-vat with a culture of her own cells, and cloned an ovary of her own – then, she gave it life with the stolen culture.  
Months later, Enginseer Sevanar ensured she was the only one present for the day the fetus reached maturation; with none to suspect her of any wrong-doing, she stole away the newborn before the facility Quartermaster and a contingent of Tech-Priests came to take note of the birth.  
For several months, Atrielle hid the child in her quarters, playing the part of mother to her rightful child. Security was none-the-wiser that one of the best workers in the facility was, on a daily basis, committing a vast number of offenses to the Machine God's laws.  
That changed when Atrielle grew careless: knowing that she could not hide the infant forever, she had begun to consider ways to sneak him either off-world or to put him in a favorable situation there on Krieg, so that she could keep guiding his growth. The Enginseer began to raise suspicions when she attempted to test the trust of those she felt would be necessary for her plans. Soon enough, Sevanar had the facility's security breaking through her door. Von Klauser, almost immediately upon entering the Enginseer's quarters, discovered the missing infant in a cradle.  
The Colonel had originally been steadfast in his intention to punish Atrielle Sevanar; but as he questioned Atrielle on her motivation, he softened. Von Klauser described the feelings which overtook him to help the Enginseer as sinful, but yet he felt it to be a good and proper thing to do. He vowed to help keep the baby safe from harm, and would not interfere if the Enginseer guided him subtly, less a parent than an observer. The apprehension incident was essentially quieted, and Atrielle Sevanar was returned to her duties… but as to the child, who had been given the personal name Heidrich by his mother, von Klauser created an identity number for the baby, which only ever registered as a minor calculation error on the part of the clerks responsible for newborn codification.  
Atrielle, however, persisted in attempting to remain present in the child's life. By the time Heidrich entered his fourth year of growth, the Enginseer was once again conspiring to be a true parent for him. Von Klauser was being returned to active duty, however, and thus when Atrielle attempted to once again spirit away Heidrich, she was apprehended and her plans laid bare for the Adeptus Mechanicus.  
The Magi of Krieg were horrified, and quickly concluded that they did not wish to touch the subject of Atrielle Sevanar; she was exiled from Krieg, and made a prisoner aboard a ship bound to take her back to the Calixis Sector for trial there. The vessel never emerged from the warp.  
Heidrich grew, never aware of his truly bizarre birthright. When he came of age, von Klauser ensured the boy was thrown into his regiment, and to keep his promise made the Enginseer's son his adjutant.  
The Lady Inquisitor closed Commissar Audes's file, and rubbed at her eyes. Long ago, Inquisitor Sobek had told her that all things were ultimately interconnected...  
Watching Heidrich doze in the seat across from her, tired and filthy from work, the Lady suddenly realized what her teacher had meant – for in her employ was a living link to Magos Lunelle Sevanar.


	12. Volume IV Part 3

**IV**  
**VERITAS**

**3**  
**The Library of Knowing, Fenksworld**

The cost of taking Magos Ordinatos Xiatin was, ultimately, too high – the Tech-Priest was found to know nothing at all about where to hunt down Vok, and so was executed for his blasphemy and treachery with nothing gained from his interrogation. For the Lady and Freia, there was thusly only one place left to find any information, and that was in Yrtzen Vok's past.  
Fenksworld, as much as it was a bed of cult-activity, housed one spectacularly important facility: the Library of Knowing, run by the governing House Vaahkon, where such information was held that Fenksworld got its reputation. The Decatalogues of the nine worlds of Prol were known to hold all the Administratum's vast quantities of data on the sector's administrative history, but a search of the Prol archives for anything relevant about Yrtzen Vok would have taken months, if not years.  
Fenksworld, however… Fenksworld answered all questions – and there was little doubt that the Library of Knowing held some work which would lead the Inquisitors to Vok's hiding place.  
The Library's lobby was packed with crates, and upon many of those crates were stacks of books, each with its own degree of wear – passing one stack whose spines were turned to the path along the floor, the Lady spotted at least three volumes proscribed as heretical by the Ordos Calixis, and one among them which was prohibited the Segmentum-over.  
At the far end of the narrow corridor through the books the hall widened into a rotunda largely devoid of any objects, save the circular desk at the center of the marble floor.  
Confined within the desk was a short, wiry man in brown-green robes. A multitude of mechandendrites sprung up from his back, snaking about, their telescopic tips scanning over the numerous books open upon the tabletop.  
The Lady Inquisitor stopped before the man, but he did not look up. The Lady clicked her heel against the floor, producing a substantial echo, yet the man still did not look at her; nor did he when she cleared her throat.  
"Yes?" the adept finally asked, still looking down into his books.  
"You could at least have the courtesy to look at me," the Lady said.  
"But I am looking at you," the adept replied, still deeply absorbed in his book.  
The Lady glanced up: one of the man's mechadendrites was glaring down at her, its red-tinted lens reflecting a distortion of her face. "Oh." The Lady coughed, and stood straight.  
"I am Jastus Volens, Senior Archivist for the Library," the adept announced. "Please inform me of the nature of your business here."  
"I am an Inquisitor of the Ordo Malleus," the Lady told him. "I wish to make use of the Library's archives."  
"That requires an appointment as established by Her Grace, Planetary Governor Cardea Vaahkon."  
The Lady Inquisitor narrowed her eyes. "I am here on Inquisitorial business. If you do not permit me to use the Library's resources, that constitutes treason."  
Freia stepped up, and took out her power maul - quite unceremoniously, she slammed her hands down against the desk, the uncharged weight of her maul mashing down on the pages of the Senior Archivist's book.  
"Listen here, you…" Freia snarled. "If you don't permit us in, we're going to force our way in. You understand me? A little punk like you has no right to deny the Inquisition. And you can bet your sweet arse that Governor Vaahkon is in for a hell of a time if we have to go that far." Sweetening the threat, Freia grabbed the edge of a book covering from amongst the piles beside Volens, lifting and letting the pages haphazardly dangle.  
The Senior Archivist's reaction was instantaneous. "Don't do that!" he howled, lunging for the book, which Freia constantly kept just beyond his reach. "Don't handle the books like that, you'll break the binding!"  
As if on cue, the weight of the pages finally tore loose from the book's spine, accompanied by an agonized wail from Volens, as though it were pieces of his own body spreading across the floor.  
As Freia moved to take another book and do the same thing again, Volens, inspired to obedience by the display of brutality, shoved a hand into his pocket and produced a large ring of keys.  
"Alright, alright! Just go, find what you need, just don't harm my books!" he squealed, hands shaking.  
Freia took the keys, and nodded to Volens. The Lady Inquisitor stepped forward again and put a hand on the Senior Archivist's shoulder. "I'm terribly sorry for that. I assure you, allowing us in has done the Imperium a great service."  
"My books…" Volens whimpered, ignoring her.  
The Lady shrugged, and moved on; Gerfrid, Isnic, Moerchen and Heidrich, having watched the interaction, quickly followed close behind, leaving Volens to collect the ruined pieces of his dear book.

The Library of Knowing was vast, a point which the Lady had anticipated – but she had not even begun to appreciate the scale quite yet.  
By the group's third hour in the Library, they had discovered only a single reference to Yrtzen Vok, and that had been a listing of forge worlds, wherein he was numbered as the executive head of at least two hundred thirty-six fanes during the year 763.M40.  
This lead to an hour-long gathering of further tomes detailing the individual histories of each fane mentioned. The Lady had been intrigued, however, by the sheer variety of industry: Vok controlled nearly every outlet of military manufacture, be it airdrop-ready prefabricated bunkers, lasguns, Leman Russ variants, or Manticore missiles. The total number of possible approaches on Vok's history was daunting, as he seemed to have gripped some high power on Mars to provide him the manufacture templates for what comprised a large body of the Cadian-defined standard of equipment.  
Defeated, the Lady shut a book which contained a second reference to Vok: a later edition of a work titled _Famous Industrialists of the Sector Calix,_ which contained an entire section devoted to biographical information on the man… though the edition had included a massive black-out of all the text in Vok's section, save his name in the heading.  
The Lady rubbed at her eyes, and put her head down against the table. Just then, however, Heidrich stepped up carrying a load of books. The Korpsman dropped the numerous volumes to the table, startling the Lady back awake.  
Blinking, the Lady examined the spines. "_Sacred Production Tallies of Gunmetal City for the Seven Hundred Thirty-Eighth Year of the Fortieth Millennium,_" she read aloud. "_A History of Lathe Forges,_ _The Lathes,_ and _Modern Conquerors._ What's all this, then?"  
Heidrich, blank-faced, shrugged towards the books. "Lamortes thought these might have something, especially the ones about the Lathes. Vok apparently ran a lot of forges there."  
The Lady sat up and took the topmost book from the stack. Heidrich unslung his las carbine and sat down across from her. He looked down at the tome open in front of him: _How to Please Your Mistress._ He cocked an eyebrow and looked up at the Lady.  
"A satirical play," the Lady assured him. "I remember reading it myself once. It was written about the time Vok was active. Makes mention of him in a simile."  
Heidrich nodded in understanding, then put the play script aside.  
For a half-hour, the Lady and her acolyte sat quiet, leafing through what they both recognized as utterly worthless texts. The tick of a winding chronometer echoed down to them from some place high above, in the multiple-layered labyrinth of walkways between the towering bookshelves; far down the hall, Freia could be heard entering a hoarse shouting-match with Isnic; for a few minutes, the distinctive, muted sound of Gerfrid's augmetic footfall taunted the Lady and Heidrich, seeming to die down before returning again.  
After half an hour of this, the Lady loudly closed her readings and leaned forward across the table – Heidrich now sat engrossed by _A History of Lathe Forges._  
Her eyes darted around the room until Heidrich glanced up at her. "Are you alright?" she asked him.  
Immediately, the Korpsman nodded. "I'm fine."  
The Lady Inquisitor looked about the hall. "Moerchen!" she shouted. Soon enough, the Chaplain appeared from behind a shelf. "Go find the Senior Archivist and ask for his assistance," the Lady ordered. "He won't refuse you, I think."  
Moerchen nodded, and vanished amid the books.  
Prompted by the Chaplain's leaving, Heidrich glanced around the surrounding space. "Why aren't there any adepts working here?"  
"Heidrich," the Lady said, immediately frowning. "Let's be honest. This is bothering you, isn't it?"  
"I don't know what you mean," the Korpsman said, reclining back.  
"You know quite well what I mean."  
Heidrich only stared at her.  
The Lady sighed. "I've lost many close people over the course of my life. Each time, Heidrich, it feels as if my very heart has been ripped out of me." She tilted her head as the Korpsman looked away from her. "I consider you one of those close people by this point, you know."  
"Isn't that a bit unwise?" Heidrich asked, gazing at the surface of the table.  
"Not at all, I think. I've got to be able to trust people with my life. I trust Moerchen, I trust Maddox, I trust Roslind…" She reached across the table to put her hand on Heidrich's. "And I trust you, kiddo. For all your work, I don't think you can really expect anything less."  
"Have I failed you in some way?"  
"No, no it's just – I know you're trying to hide it, but you can't possibly be unaffected by Hildegarn."  
Heidrich turned his head. "The Korps taught that mourning loss is a waste of time. To properly remember a fallen comrade is to slay more of the Emperor's foes."  
The language took the Lady aback – it was stiff, automatic, as though Heidrich were reciting mantra. "But what are you going to do now? There aren't any enemies of the Emperor here. You cared about her, and we all knew it. Isnic and Gerfrid, they're stone-cold killers, they're accustomed to dead friends, but even they're hurt by it." She slid her seat along to face Heidrich directly again. "What about you? You're young. You're just a guardsman, one who hasn't even gotten to live a normal life."  
"I have no right to complain," the Korpsman rasped.  
"Nonsense." The Lady shifted to the side. "Absolute nonsense. I grew up with the comforts of wealth and luxury. I can talk all I want about how I felt as though I didn't belong at times, but the truth is my family was there for me. You, though…" She hesitated before speaking, and suddenly began to consider again the Commissar's file.  
"You've lost everything," she suddenly whispered, not entirely aware of what she was saying.  
Heidrich looked at her, confused.  
"Most other Inquisitors will just push and push their retainers until they finally break. I can't even consider you an investment, though," she said, ignoring what she had said before. "You're a friend and a partner, you understand?" She took his hands in hers, and clasped them together. "You need anything… anything at all, then you only have to come to me. I don't want to see you work yourself to death."  
Seeing the Korpsman breath heavy, the Lady smiled and gently patted his cheek. "Relax. We've got a job to do. If you want to talk about it while we search…"  
The Lady paused when Heidrich opened his mouth as though to speak. For a few seconds, he hesitated, before nodding. "Alright. We can do that."

Senior Archivist Jastus Volens was not having a good day.  
Having dragged the rebinder out from the maintenance hall, he sat in front of his desk, reorganizing the fallen pages of his destroyed book. The Senior Archivist was there on the floor when a pair of red-armored fellows entered, carrying a small crate. The two of them were a discomforting sight, especially since the both of them wore rebreathers fashioned to look like scowling faces.  
"Can I - can I help you?" Volens unsteadily asked, putting aside his work.  
The two men put down their crate, and approached the Senior Archivist - as one audibly cracked his knuckles, the other produced a small book from his kit.  
"A gift from our master," he said in a harsh, rumbling accent, as though Low Gothic were uncomfortable on his tongue.  
As he took the book Volens looked at its cover, which appeared to be bound in some exotic leather: _A Hundred Thousand Nights,_ it read.  
"We… have an appointment," the other assured, in equally coarse Low Gothic. "We must… deliver the books in this crate to your collection."  
Volens stood and motioned for them to give him the crate. "Well, I can handle that for you-"  
"No," the first one quickly snapped. "We must do it ourselves."  
Reluctant to start anything new, Volens complied. "Very well. The doors should be unlocked."  
The men picked up the crate again, and stepped past, kicking over a small pile of books as they made for the archives.  
Curiously, as they passed, Senior Archivist Jastus Volens could swear he heard something within the crate beep.

"This isn't helping us at all," Freia said, putting down her latest book beside her.  
Isnic looked up from his copy of _Fifteen Masters of the Forge;_ Gerfrid simply kept reading.  
"I don't quite see what the Lady thinks we'll find reading these books. It's inefficient, it's bothersome… and it's boring!"  
"Trust me, anything we do is less boring than life on Dreah," Isnic assured her.  
"Your homeworld. Right." Freia sat back and looked about the area between the bookshelves, as if expecting something important to appear for her.  
"We got high to just to see the pretty colors, that's how bad it was." Isnic amusedly snorted as he turned the page of his book. "I hate that grey dump. With a passion."  
Gerfrid was the first to notice the two men with the crate coming down the aisle; he initially suspected them to be a pair of workers, but he recognized how bulky the two were, especially with body armor on, and so the assassin concluded them to be thugs of some sort. As the two approached, Gerfrid kept one hand on his hand cannon's holster. Freia and Isnic took an interest in the two quickly as well as they slid the lid off the box.  
Immediately, as though freed from some seal, a loud and constant beeping sprang up from the box – it was a sound Freia recognized as the droning of a teleporter array transmitting coordinates.  
Before the Inquisitor could even blink, several men also in rebreathers, wielding chain axes, teleported in. Even as Isnic, Gerfrid and Freia began to pull weapons on the pack of pirates, their leader flashed into existence armed with a similar weapon the size of a grown man.  
The Chaos Marine grinned at the dumbstruck Gerfrid, who – along with the Inquisitor and Isnic – was frozen in place by the sight of the armor-clad giant.  
Torturer leaned forward, his teeth bared in a demented smile. "Why hello there," he said, and promptly dislocated Gerfrid's jaw with a swipe of his fist, sending his raiders into a frenzy.  
Two men immediately jumped Freia, who tried to unholster her maul when one of the pair tried to grapple with her; she elbowed him hard several times in his unprotected gut, and then beat him over the head with the maul. The Inquisitor switched the weapon on to full power and disintegrated his cranium with a swing that also destroyed part of the other attacker's neck.  
Isnic punched one raider with his off-hand while he pulled out his shotgun pistol. The bounty hunter brought the weapon to bear and blew the head off another of his assailants before he was forced to use the pistol to deflect a swing from a chain axe – the gun flew out of his hands, leaving him unarmed; a second blow from the axe ate into his bicep, tearing up gore and bits of bone. Isnic snarled and clutched the horrific wound as the weapon let up, and then kicked his foe repeatedly, not able to counter as another took a swing at his back.  
Torturer stomped down on Gefrid's augmetic leg, half-surprised to see the assassin, half-conscious through his pain, squirm away when his limb tore away from his body. Gerfrid fumbled with his pistol, just shakily managing to pull it out when the Chaos Marine grabbed him by the wrist, lifted him up, and then crushed the gun – and Gerfrid's hand with it. As Gerfrid let out a muffled scream of pain, Torturer threw him against the shelf, spilling books across the floor. As the assassin stirred, the Chaos Marine put a boot to his head, and then pressed down until he heard Gerfrid's skull crack and felt it flatten.  
Torturer left the destroyed assassin and immediately turned his attention to Freia, who was flailing her maul about to keep her attackers at bay. He stepped forward, and kicked the weapon out of her hand as she attempted to swing it at him. She immediately pulled out her Stormchild, firing three full rounds into Torturer's chest before the Chaos Marine seized her by the throat. Once Freia emptied the rest of the gun's ammo cylinder against Torturer's power armor, the giant swatted the weapon aside, and then began plucking the large-caliber bullets from his chest-plating.  
Torturer looked back at Isnic, who was kneeling, just as another of his armsmen ripped his head off with a swing of their axe. The blood from the grey bounty hunter's decapitation was flung onto the Chaos Marine's face; he shivered and grinned as he looked back at Freia.  
"You're neither of the people I'm after," he whispered, enjoying the sound of the Inquisitor gagging under his grip. "What to do with you?..."  
As Freia began to desperately kick against his front, the Traitor Marine tossed her back to his remaining armsmen. "Do what you want with her," he told them, and focused down the aisle.  
Torturer could hear his bounty scampering away.

The Lady Inquisitor nearly tripped over a stack of books as she hurried away from the scene. She cursed herself again and again for not bringing a gun – it was all she could do, as she was still unable to register what was happening.  
Heidrich, close behind, las carbine gripped tight, constantly looked over his shoulder, read to gun down whatever came after them – he, unfortunately, missed the tomes which had almost caught the Lady, and fell to the ground.  
The Lady Inquisitor stopped, spun around, and dragged him back to his feet. "We need to run!" she hissed, running with one hand around the Korpsman's arm. "We have to find Moerchen!"  
A mechanical screech filled the air, and a bookshelf in front of the two toppled over as the Chaos Marine crashed into them. The Lady shouted something incomprehensible to Heidrich over the noise of the Marine's jump pack and quickly spun around and ran the opposite direction as Torturer took another turbofan-powered leap closer towards them.  
The proximity of the Chaos Marine's landing knocked the Lady over on her face. As she tried to scramble away, Torturer lunged, and got ahold of her lower leg.  
"Heidrich, run!" the Lady screamed as the Chaos Marine pulled her off the ground upside-down.  
Torturer watched as the Korpsman took off down the corridor, and then looked down at the Lady Inquisitor. "I've got a nice bonus awaiting me if I bring the both of you in," he told her, then dropped his chain axe and took hold of her leg with both hands. The Lady cried out as the Chaos Marine bent her leg the wrong way entirely; then he dropped her. "Don't go anywhere!" Torturer sang, taking up his chain axe again.  
Laughing like a madman, turbofans screaming, Torturer leapt forward, high enough to see Heidrich running down a parallel pathway. The Chaos Marine cut his jump at its peak, and then grabbed hold of one of the catwalks hanging over the bookshelves; as the metal bent in the direction Torturer's momentum was taking him, the Chaos Marine reactivated his jump pack and catapulted forward to another walkway, repeating the stunt two more times before dropping down and crumpling another shelf close behind the Korpsman, spitting splinters in every direction.  
Doomed yet defiant, Heidrich turned on his heel and immediately opened up on the Traitor Marine with his las carbine. Torturer scowled and winced as las-beams hit every section of the front of his armor, coming closer and closer to his face.  
The Chaos Marine charged, toppling over the Korpsman. As Heidrich struggled to get back to his feet, Torturer kicked him back over and put a foot down on his right arm.  
"You have quite a lot of courage to be shooting me like that," he said, and crushed Heidrich's arm under his foot – the Korpsman screamed. "The Magos must want to do horrible things to you, if she wants you alive. She didn't say you had to be in one piece, though…"  
Torturer took his chain axe to Heidrich's arm, ignoring the mortal's cries of pain, and then tore off the ruined limb. The Korpsman, stunned and wide-eyed, began gasping like a fish while Torturer stepped off of him.  
Just then, Lamortes popped up from the far-end of the aisle, and fired his las pistol at the Chaos Marine. The shot grazed Torturer's cheek, issuing a throaty growl; as Torturer looked back at the Tech-Priest, Lamortes ducked back and retreated.  
Torturer looked in the opposite direction as an armsman from the _Reign of Agony_ appeared. "Do you have the others captive?" the Chaos Marine called to him.  
"Yes, my Lord!" the armsman shouted.  
Torturer looked down at the Korpsman, whose chest rose and fell with increasing speed as his breathing intensified. "Take this one aboard too. Make sure Phoeb knows he isn't allowed to die."  
With that, Torturer stormed forward, and then leapt again with his jump pack. In the time he had a vantage above the shelves, he could not find where Lamortes had gone. He landed again, and looked around down the long row of perpendicular shelves.  
As Torturer began to step down one of the aisles, the shelf to his left collapsed atop him, and he found himself at close quarters with Chaplain Moerchen.  
"Revolting monster!" the Chaplain bellowed as he cracked the side of his bolt pistol against Torturer's face - the Chaos Marine caught his arm as he tried to swing his crozius. As the ancient staff crackled and sparked, electricity arcing between its tip and its handle, Torturer repeatedly attempted to take off Moerchen's arm at the joint with his chain axe, missing each time.  
Seeing this opportunity, Moerchen fired off a bolt directly into the Traitor's chest; Torturer let go and fell back, dropping his chain axe, and the Chaplain destroyed one of his augmetic legs with a swing of the crozius while Torturer stumbled.  
The Chaos Marine quickly put his hand to his comm-bead. "Get me back aboard!" Torturer shouted as Moerchen came at him again. "Teleport me back onboard now-"  
The Chaplain's swing brought one wing of the crozius arcanum's energized aquila-head driving into Torturer's mouth – boiling blood sprayed across the floor as the Chaos Marine fell over atop the charred remains of his jaw and pieces of his fingers. Dazed and horrified, Torturer let loose an agonized scream which came out as a disturbing gargling sound that sprayed strings of gore and blood from his exposed airway.  
Then, as the Chaplain raised his crozius arcanum for a final strike, the Traitor Marine disappeared.


	13. Volume V Part 1

**V**  
**REBIRTH**

**1**  
**The **_**Angrboedha**_

When Losa entered, she found the Master reclined in his throne and surrounded by his holoscreen dome. One screen was from a hull-mounted pict recorder, magnified and focused to watch a meteor shower impacting the nearby planetoid; another holoscreen looked over a hangar, where a squad of crewmen patrolled the narrow spaces between the racks of stored Hell Blades.  
When Losa stepped up to the outer ring around the Master's throne, several screens flashed and changed to blurry human faces, all of them staring at her.  
"What is it?" the Master spoke, his voice bounding off the walls.  
"I just finished with my inspection. I heard that the Marine's vessel was spotted on the outskirts of the system…"  
One of the screens directly in front of Vok went dark, and then began to flash a string of text.  
Losa tilted her head and slowly, cautiously approached. "What is-"  
"A conversation which I was not meant to see." Another screen turned black, and the text appeared on it too, reversed so that Losa could read:  
_MP/ We will arrive within the day._  
_MP/ My Lord wishes to know your instructions for the bounty._  
Losa glanced up. "This is…"  
"A two-way telegraphic vox between Magos Sevanar and our fine mercenary's Tech-Priest," Vok said, motionless in his seat. "And yes, I was made aware that he is within the system."  
Losa frowned, and looked back at the scrolling text – there was a pause before the next message appeared:  
_MS/ The boy is safe?_  
_MP/ He is alive._  
Another pause before a repetition:  
_MS/ The boy is safe?_  
_MP/ He is safe._  
_MS/ Then after you have delivered the Master's target, shuttle him over and bring him to me personally. Be discreet._  
_MP/ My Lord sends his greetings. He wishes to know the status of his commission._  
_MS/ The armor is built and anointed._  
_MP/ And he requests swift reply on the other items we spoke of earlier._  
_MS/ Yes. I will construct new augmetics for him._  
The holoscreen facing Losa disappeared, followed by the whole dome. Yrtzen Vok leaned forward.  
"Do they conspire against you?" Losa Proga asked.  
"No," the Master declared. "They conspire to smuggle a bounty of Sevanar's aboard."  
Losa frowned and cocked her head. "Did the Magos inform you of this?" she asked.  
"No. She sought to hide this from me." Vok stood up. He stepped down from his seat, passing his servant. "We will have a word with her about this once all things are said and done. Now, however, we must prepare to receive our friend."

There was a foul breath blowing upon the Lady's neck - as she squirmed to be rid of the unpleasant tingling it caused, the men laughed. The lot exchanged words in a vulgar and unfamiliar language, though the Lady knew from their tone that they were mocking her. The armsmen had blindfolded her – for what purpose, she did not know. The concept was familiar to her as a preparatory measure for torture, but since the last several weeks of transit had been empty of anything besides imprisonment, she doubted they intended to interrogate her.  
The flesh of the Lady's knee dug into the corrugated metal of the floor, bringing a renewed spring of pain to her broken leg. The Chaos pirates had cared only enough to provide a basic bracing for her snapped leg, and had left parts of the flesh exposed and strained. Given the nature of her injury, however, the Lady doubted a cast would do much of anything.  
Somewhere behind her, the Lady Inquisitor could hear the strained mechanical hiss of the Chaos Marine's gasps – a modified rebreather from the stock of the _Reign's_ armsmen had been strapped to his face, and the Lady assumed a tube had been run down his throat, judging by the sound. She had seen the damage done to him, when the crew had removed her from her cell and taken her through the halls to her present location: apart from the mask, the Traitor Marine now sported a thin emergency augmetic leg which contrasted his power armor. The gauntlet of Torturer's left hand was removed, revealing a series of bionic fingers on a gnarled and dead-pale hand, makeshift prosthetics composed of little more than bits of scrap-metal fashioned into pointed tips.  
In an attempt to intimidate the Lady, Magos Phoeb had told her that Moerchen – or "the impudent Chaplain," as the heretek knew him – would pay dearly for doing all this to Torturer. She desperately hoped that the Traitor Marine was still in pain.  
Brushing against the Lady's arm was, she assumed, Freia. Roslindis breathed about as unsteadily as the Chaos Marine. The Hereticus Inquisitor shivered in the nude – the two of them had been stripped of all clothing shortly after their confinement, when one unfortunate crewman had found out Inquisitor Freia kept a power blade hidden under her tunic. Her first attacker's battery was not the last, either: after they had moved Freia to another part of the hold, the Lady had heard no end of her colleague's screams.  
Of Heidrich's fate, the Lady knew nothing - in fact, she had not seen him aboard the Traitor Marine's vessel. The thought of the Korpsman's death sapped any of the energy which remained in her.  
The hull groaned, the vessel shuddered, and the Lady felt her own panting pick up pace. Then an aperture before them opened, and a blast of fresh, cold air hit the Lady. One of the armsmen grabbed her by her hair and dragged her forward. She winced and obeyed, crawling forward on her knees, an act which brought great pain given the state of her leg.  
The armsman released his grip on her hair and pushed her to the floor.  
"What is this?" came a voice, one which the Lady recalled too well.  
"This is the Lady Inquisitor, as you commanded," Phoeb said.  
The Lady was beginning to form the name of this benefactor on her tongue when a metal hand clamped down on her face by her jaw, and forced her up. Her blindfold was ripped away, freeing her eyes to see just who she stood before.  
The thing which stared down at her was in no way human: it bore four arms, one pair of which ended in vorpal talons; its metal ribcage dropped away into a plated cable imitating a backbone; blue orbs seated within an elongated skull looked out at her, internal pieces spinning, apertures focusing; the skeletal body was supported by long legs which ended in toeless feet. Few signs of vital machinery could be seen – it was as though the creature were a statue.  
Statuesque, the Lady thought - a macabre paragon of mechanical obsession and supremacy.  
"Yrtzen Vok," she wheezed through her clenched teeth.  
The Master scanned over the naked, poorly-bandaged Lady Inquisitor, released his grip on her mouth, and then looked up at the Traitor Marine. "I instructed you to keep her unharmed."  
Phoeb stepped forward. "My Lord Torturer found that breaking her leg was necessary to immobilize her."  
Apparently content with this answer, Vok turned his head as Freia was brought before him. The Lady looked over: her colleague was pale, covered in cuts and bruises, and seemed a hollow shell of the fit arbitrator she had last seen. Roslindis Freia stared up at Vok with deep-set eyes that radiated hate and exhaustion. The display apparently amused the machine-man, for he chuckled before he looked back at Torturer.  
"I see you also bring me Inquisitor Freia," Vok noted. "And in a violated state as well. Are you incapable of keeping your crew's urges in check?"  
"I assure you, every measure was taken to keep such a thing from happening to the Lady," Phoeb said. "Freia, however, earned her punishment."  
The Lady noticed the woman standing close behind Vok, then. Small and thin, the young lady wore a light jacket over a synskin bodyglove, along with a belt webbed with vials of blood, which lead the Lady to conclude that she was the blood sorcerer from Hive Tarsus. The Lady perceived her shifting uncomfortably, eyes darting between the two bound Inquisitors – they had left an impression in the hangar-fight.  
Vok stared hard at Torturer, and cocked his head. "You did not come out of your little hunt in one piece, did you?"  
Phoeb cleared his throat. "While bringing in the Lady, my Lord was mauled by a thrice-damned loyalist-"  
A deep and guttural rumble like an engine caused Phoeb to flinch and grow quiet. "I can speak for myself, worm," Torturer snapped, his artificial voice deep and strained. He glared up at Vok. "A sycophant-Chaplain of the Corpse-God attacked me when I took the Inquisitors. But I have done as you instructed."  
Vok nodded. "Indeed. Do not imply that I am not appreciative, however. If you so-wish, we can go discuss your payments…"  
The Marine's look turned to what would have been a sick grin had he still possessed full muscles in the lower part of his face. "I would wish that."  
Vok glanced at the Inquisitors again, and turned to his cyber-partisans – he clicked out a series of binary-commands to them. One of the bulky augmetic guards took the Lady by her shoulder and forced her to her feet, staring at her the entire time as though to ensure she did not escape his grasp. She dared not look back at its beady eye-lenses.  
Vok beckoned the Traitor Marine, who followed him with a shaky limp in his unbalanced step. Freia, tired yet defiant, weakly struggled against the superior strength of the cyber-partisan attempting to restrain her before the cyborg simply lifted her off her feet and carried her; the cyber-partisan holding the Lady adjusted its grip to her arm and pulled her forward along the hall.  
Losa Proga stood for a while, watching the prisoners as they were hauled away. Once the two Inquisitors and their keepers passed through the first bulkhead, she turned and followed after her Master, which left Phoeb alone with the armsmen from the _Reign of Agony._  
The magos straightened out his robes, and pointed back into the umbilical passage's airlock.  
"Go get the other, quickly," he ordered one of the crew. The masked armsman nodded, and stepped through into the airlock while Phoeb stood watch.

Losa became aware of an interesting factor to the Chaos Marine's movement as they passed into the vaults: Torturer literally limped with each motion. His breathing was ragged, cautious – as if air passing along by his wounded features pained him; when he spoke, it came out as a rasp, for any vibration from his mask's vox likely hurt as well. Losa quickly realized that he was not being anesthetized, which was curious, for she knew Space Marine armor automatically administered pain-suppressants to critical wounds. The thought occurred to her that he may have been like this the entirety of his journey to the _Angrboedha._  
The numerous seals on the vault doors slid open, and Vok stepped in, with Torturer hobbling close behind him, and Losa holding a steady distance. The Traitor Marine was at least hiding any mental fatigue he held, as a basic observation of his mind did not alert Losa to any anguish.  
"Take whatever you wish," Vok said to his guest, motioning around the long vault hall – lit alcoves lined the walls with shelves stocked full of weapons, and pedestals stood between each unit, stocked with their own macabre tools. "As much as you want. Just, I do ask you to be tasteful about it."  
Torturer stopped between two display tables laden with a myriad of killing-machines: curved knives with venous markings, serrated short swords with consciences which bit and lashed at Losa's mind, deceptively simple puzzle boxes, and a great number of stranger artifacts.  
Torturer scanned along the aisles, yet his attention was caught by the weapons stored in the nearest section of the wall. He limped along, fixated on one particularly exotic blade, covered in sharp spikes and serrations, its handle ridged with spiny bone. He reached forth to take it from its supports.  
"I would not advise picking that up," Vok warned, "not with gauntlets like those. You need something thicker, with more grip."  
"What is it?" Torturer rasped.  
"The Dark Eldar call it a huskblade." Vok stepped up beside the Chaos Marine, and plucked the weapon up – the ridges and bumps along the blade glimmered as he twisted it about in his hand. "And they call it such for good reason. Upon contact with flesh, it dries you out like a baked carcass in a desert. A gruesome blade, one which I earned from very…" he paused, as though coming upon a lengthy recollection, then continued, "from very interesting dealings with its creators."  
Torturer let out a breath of amazement, and glanced over the rest of the weapons on the shelf: they all bore a similar motif to the huskblade, with dark coloring and vicious curvature.  
"This, what is this?" the Chaos Marine asked, pointing to a sword with what appeared to be a small canister attached above its hilt.  
"An Eldar power sword, borne of the smiths of Commoragh. It's lighter and far more nimble than anything the Imperium has ever produced, but you need to be able to activate it… and that requires an Eldar's understanding of technology."  
Torturer grunted in acknowledgment, then moved away from the shelf, passing Vok to move to another display.  
As the Chaos Marine leaned towards a short, thin blade, the Master spoke again: "I purchased that from the Stryxis. I have yet to uncover its origin, but it delivers a very interesting venom."  
Torturer looked up at Vok. "Interesting, how?"  
"Upon contact, it causes one to swell up like a pustule…" Vok held up a clenched hand to emphasize. "Then burst." He quickly opened up his palm, ending the pantomime.  
"Amazing," Torturer said.  
"All of life is to die," Vok told him with a shrug. "And we living make a point of expediting others to that fate, and with increasingly ingenious methods." The man-machine paced along the displays, keeping a hand hovering gently above each weapon. "It is a hobby of mine to collect all these implements of murder."  
The Traitor Marine quickly grew disinterested with the blades, and limped along past Vok, hunched over to examine the collection more closely. Then his eyes fell upon a most peculiar instrument.  
To Losa, distantly watching Torturer's childish browsing, "instrument" was the word which came to mind: it looked like a lyre strapped to a large gun's casing. The length of the gun broadened at the end into a metal effigy of a human skull, its mouth gaping wide with the barrel passing through the hole in its jaw; where the lips would have parted was instead a vox-grill.  
"Is that what I think it is?" Torturer asked, gesturing to the weapon.  
Vok approached, and nodded to the device. "That, is one of the oldest sonic blasters in existence," he said. "It first belonged to Szanaraeus, among the earliest Noise Marines of the Emperor's Children." Mentioning the excommunicated legion's name brought a chuckle out of the Master.  
Vok took up the blaster by its tubular casing. "I have it on authority that this was built either after the Isstvan Massacre or the Siege of Terra, but I have confirmed the musical instrument implemented in its construction originated from the performance of the _Maraviglia._ Its owner died to penitent loyalists during the Age of Redemption, and has passed on to a hundred heritors, before coming into my hands by way of the Noise Marine Farenius.  
"Szanaraeus was no great artist. He was mocked by his fellow Slaaneshi for his inability to make this weapon a spectacular shrine to his patron god. It is a brutish and misshapen creation when compared to those constructed by his peers and competitors, but Szanaraeus more than made up for his craftsmanship with his profound musical ability…"  
Vok looked again to Torturer. "For it is said a full thousand sycophant-Astartes have died by this weapon - by Szanaraeus and by those his music inspired."  
"Amusing that you would keep such a sentimental weapon," Torturer noted.  
Vok threw his head back and his artificial voice boomed with laughter – the effect was startling, as the bellows bounced about the high vaulted ceiling numerous times. Losa shivered lightly, fearfully.  
"Each weapon here is a monument to some great killer." Vok lifted up all four of his arms to the vast collection. "The sonic blaster of Noise Marine Szanaraeus, who is long-dead and forgotten; the haunted claw of the Khornate Dreadnought Drivar, annihilated by a strike from the cannon of the Shadowsword tank _Malleus Furiae_; the mind-wretching dancing blades of the Dark Eldar Wych Helissari, who was mortally pinned upon an arena spike by the depraved Torsaryth and then ravished before a hundred thousand of her people. Each of their wielders is remembered here, and only here - in my consecrated halls!"  
Vok drew close to the Chaos Marine, and leaned forward - Losa truly realized only then just how much taller her Master was than Torturer.  
"Perhaps, just perhaps, one day your implements shall become part of this memoria," the man-machine said, and slipped past the Traitor Marine and headed for the door.  
"Or perhaps not. That depends on what becomes of you. Losa," he called to his servant; she instinctively stood at attention. "Stay with the good Lord Torturer. I shall send down a few partisans to help him move his selection. Guide him out when he is satisfied, and bring him to see me on the bridge so that we may consider further employment."  
Losa Proga bowed. "Yes, my Master."  
Vok took his leave of the two, and Losa was alone with Torturer.  
And then, Losa Proga felt the faintest shudder of a horrendous pain:  
She felt the wounds dealt to the Traitor Marine's pride. Suddenly, she felt much less worried to be in his presence.

The open sores on the Lady's wrists still brought her pain – renewed pain, now that the cyber-partisans had removed the shackles. The air bit at the exposed wounds, and the sharp sting of exposed flesh throbbed as though fresh.  
The guards had simply tossed her and Freia together in one cell. There were no clear restraints present in the room; no torture implements, no apparent security measures. The Lady entertained the notion that the door was unlocked. Vok seemed to be mocking them.  
There was no furniture at all in the room, which suggested it was only a transitional holding cell. The only sound to be heard was an irritable buzzing which made any attempt at extended focus impossible – yet another psychological weapon of Vok's, the Lady supposed.  
Up against the opposite wall, Freia stirred. The Hereticus Inquisitor suddenly lacked her defiant airs, and looked the part of a broken woman. That worried the Lady.  
"Roslind," the Lady softly called.  
Freia lifted her head up, and weakly smiled. "Yeah?"  
"Are you… are you-"  
Freia scoffed before the Lady could finish. "Don't even ask. The question's so funny, it hurts."  
"We'll find a way out of this," the Lady emptily assured her.  
"I sure as shit hope so." Freia looked around the room. "I've got some people who I want dead now."  
The Lady sighed, and rested her head back - Roslindis Freia was alive and well, it seemed.  
Freia's smile dissipated a moment after. "Vok's got people in the Ordos," she said.  
The Lady looked over at her again. "You thought about that too, did you?"  
"It's the only thing that makes sense. Hell, the last several months make sense when you look at this… everything, as a trap. He had someone who let him know in the first place we were onto him. I think that's why he had all the top people for Turas-Hie killed."  
"But why would he go so far just to catch us?"  
"I don't know." Freia curled up against the wall and quivered. "But I think you might have something to do with it."  
The Lady would have considered that comment further, but instead her attention turned to the exit as the door swung open.  
The giant Vok entered, carrying pieces of cloth folded over one of his lower arms. Freia instinctively leapt from her hiding place, and attempted to slip past him. The Hereticus Inquisitor failed to fully account for the man-machine's reach, however, and when he held up his other arm she ran straight into it before she could stop hereself. Before Freia could recover, Vok took her by the neck, lifted her up, and then casually strode forward until he was pressing her against the wall. The Lady simply watched as her companion choked.  
"You are my guests," Vok told her as she began beating on his arm with her fist. "You will stay here until I decide where to put the two of you… and especially until I decide what to do with you, Freia. You weren't supposed to be brought here."  
Vok looked back at the Lady, and stared down at her. "But I suppose it ensures nobody is capable of searching for you right away. Your agents – the Chaplain and the Tech-Priest – they lack any real authority. They'll have to go running back to Scintilla, get a petition written up to search for you, and by that time, any trace of me will be long-gone…"  
Freia gagged beneath Vok's grip; the man-machine let go, dropping her to the floor. As the Hereticus Inquisitor curled up and hyperventilated, Vok dropped one of the pieces of cloth from his arm onto her. He took a few steps over to the Lady, and tossed her the other. The Lady caught it, and then unfolded it: she found it was actually a simple dress.  
"Garments for you two. Torturer was able to completely disarm the two of you, or so I trust, and thus you have no need to be kept fully exposed." Vok stepped over to the cell door, and then turned back to look at his two prisoners. "There is no escape from here. Any attempt to leave will be futile. Resign yourselves, for it will be much less painful that way."  
With that, the Master shut the door, leaving the two alone.

Halfway along to the bridge-lift, Vok paused, and turned back to the corridor. A faint pulse drummed at his head, and he glanced about the hall.  
"What is the matter?" the Master called out.  
"The Marine," was the rumbling response.  
"What has he done?"  
One of the holo-panels on the wall lit up, revealing a diagram of the deck. "He has parted with Losa, and is going for the captives' holding pen."  
Vok shook his head. "Idiot. Why did Losa not force him to stop?"  
"She was unsure of whether you would approve."  
"What is your analysis?"  
The hologram disintegrated, and was replaced by the indistinct shape of a human face. "You brought up feelings of weakness, it appears. He may wish to rectify that impotency. He may kill the prisoners."  
"No, I fear he has something else in plan." Vok turned from the face, and strode along the direction he came from. "He is evaluating his faith."  
The hologram followed him along the wall, disappearing at each bulkhead, only to reappear adjacent to the Master in the next session. "At this current rate you will reach him within a half-minute of his arrival at the cell. Shall the cyber-partisans repel him?"  
"No," Vok growled. "Have them stand down. I will quell his foolery myself."  
The face stopped following, and then turned to watch Vok as he disappeared in the long halls. Once it became impossible to see him any longer, the hologram disappeared.

Freia was still breathing heavily when the Lady heard the pounding at the cell door - her heart began to beat faster, and her own breathing intensified.  
Then the door came crashing open. In stumbled Torturer, his eyes wide with madness, his rebreather letting out ragged hisses of respiration. He looked between the Lady and Freia, and staggered toward the former.  
"Whores! Whores of the corpse-god!" his modulated voice spat. The Lady pressed up against the wall as he advanced.  
"Vok wants us alive. He wants us unharmed," the Lady quickly warned.  
The Chaos Marine let out what was meant to be a laugh. "Vok can do nothing to save you. You will die because I command it." Torturer lunged for her, and before she could make any move his gauntlet smacked across her cheek and sent her to the floor.  
"Because I command it," he repeated. "Because your pain pleases me!"  
While Torturer grabbed the Lady by her arm, Freia scrambled to her feet and rushed at him. The Hereticus Inquisitor pounced the Chaos Marine and, climbing over his backpack, forced him to let go of the Lady, who dropped again to the ground.  
Freia got a grip on Torturer's collar, dodging each of the Chaos Marine's stiff-armed attempts to pull her off.  
"Run!" Freia shouted. "Get away!"  
The Lady pushed herself up and began to limp for the door, glancing over her shoulder to watch Torturer desperately flail about – Freia had taken hold of his skull and was attempting to claw at his eyes.  
All the Lady knew was that she needed to get out of the room. She hobbled into the doorway, and as she turned to go for the hall, she was met by Vok. The Master towered above her over twice her size, and the sight of him nearly made the Lady scream.  
The Lady began to step back into the room. A low grumble swelled up from Vok, growing louder and harsher as he followed her back into the cell, until he finally pushed her aside and charged at Torturer.  
The Chaos Marine had just pulled Freia off from atop him when the Master collided with him. Torturer was small for a Marine, making the menace of Vok all the worse. Furious, the man-machine stomped on Torturer's replacement leg, and clamped down on the Marine's arm - Torturer's rebreather emitted a warbled howl as the plating crumpled under the Master's tightening grasp.  
Vok let go and moved off the Marine, but Torturer lashed out at him. Vok leaned back to avoid a strike from the Traitor Marine, and then was atop him again. Vok took Torturer by the gorget of his armor and brought his ruined face close.  
"Your mistake," the Master snarled, "was to think you could best me."  
Vok leveled a claw from one of his secondary arms with the Marine's face, and made sure that Torturer could see the mono-edged metal glistening with wetness. "I have never had the opportunity to test this poison on a Marine. Do something like this again, and you will be the first Astartes to receive that honor. I needn't even cut at you… all that is necessary is that I peel that pathetic mask from your face and watch it drip onto the flesh beneath."  
A pair of cyber-partisans entered then, and clicked off a burst of binary to Vok. The Master released Torturer, and looked back at them. He gave them his command, and they moved to the wounded Chaos Marine.  
"I am fully willing to overlook this," Vok said. "I can value you as an asset, but not if you are going to be this unstable." The cyber-partisans hoisted up Torturer by his arms. "They will take you to Magos Sevanar. Go, get your new armor and all your cute trinkets. And once you are fit we will speak about new contracting."  
"How…" Torturer wheezed.  
"Nothing is said on my vessel without my knowledge. Don't think you can conceal any conversation – any dealing – from me."  
The cyber-partisans pulled Torturer out, dragging the ruined mess of his bionic leg behind him. The Lady uneasily eyed Vok curling and uncurling his hands, gnashing his claws – he was coming off of a blood-high, she thought.  
Vok turned his head and glared down at her. He stepped over to her, and kneeled low. "Your wounds will be treated," he told her.  
The Lady said nothing.  
Vok looked from the Lady to Freia – the Hereticus Inquisitor was unconscious after her bout with the Chaos Marine. Content, Vok looked back at the Lady.  
"As I told you before, there is no escape. Do not even try to run. I have my uses for you. Your friend there would be wise to avoid doing anything stupid, because she is without worth." With this, the man-machine stood up and stormed out, shutting the cell door behind him.  
The Lady pushed herself up against the wall, and buried her face in her knees.

Time had ceased to exist for Heidrich. Any few moments he spent awake was indistinct and fleeting, and seemed more like nightmares than anything. The stub of his arm would taunt him, and endless pain would erupt from the base of his spine and spread out through his skull. The Korpsman would shiver, the air against his skin cold and merciless; he knew it was fever, and he knew it came from his wounds. In those vague moments of consciousness he knew he was dying.  
Sleep brought dreams, more so than usual, and none of them pleasant: he saw infants suckle from skeletons; hideous beings whose pink flesh would pour blood as they mocked him and his weakness.  
None of the imagery would leave Heidrich's mind. Adding to his anxiety, there was also the most vivid of his nightmares.  
He ran in an infinite sea of white, stumbling, flailing, sick and in horrible pain. He slipped, fell forward with the force of an artillery shell; he tried to get back to his feet, not daring to look back, but then something caught his leg. Still too fearful to look back, he grabbed at a segmented metal cable which had caught around his ankle. No matter how hard he tugged, the cable would tense up and refuse to loosen – it felt as if it would crush his foot.  
Another cable came down before the Korpsman like a thrashing tentacle, and as it dragged backwards it raked up Heidrich by his arm. A second slid around his other limb, and then slowly began to bury itself under his skin. He watched the studded pattern of the metal covering snake a path along his arm, felt every muscle numb and clench as the tip tore up and burrowed a new path. He panicked, frantically watched as more and more cables took ahold of him and dug in; fire shot up from each entry-point, quickly engulfing his entire body. A wire shot into the back of his skull, forcing him to lurch his head back and scream.

Then he woke up, numbly moaning in parody of his bawling. His sore vision registered a dark blue wall lit bright by an angled light. Heidrich rolled over, cursing his phantom-limb and the feeling of contradictory wholeness it brought. He realized he was atop a cushioned slab in the middle of a square room. Obviously, he realized, he was no longer onboard the vessel which the Marine had put him on – it was too sterile, and there was a keen lack of the rust-red color which had permeated whatever he saw.  
His lost limb ached. He slapped at the stump, thinking that would relieve it…  
Then he realized there was no stump. A solid scar circling around his bicep indicated where his limb had been severed, but below it was a complete arm which exactly matched with his other appendage. He flexed it, and a few seconds of testing revealed that he could actually control its fingers. He considered for a moment that he might be dreaming again, but his unmistakable dizziness all but confirmed he was awake.  
Heidrich scanned over the room from his seat: the only real detail was an open doorway tucked away against a corner, inviting him to pass through. He considered getting up and investigating when a soft, gentle noise sent him into chilling convulsions.  
From some hall beyond the door echoed a woman's singing. The voice had a metallic rattle to it, but nevertheless Heidrich supposed he would have found it comforting were it not for the fact that he knew the melody.  
A minute passed before Heidrich could hear a steady pattern of scraping sounds in the hallway. The singing grew louder as the source came closer, and before long he realized he could hear the soft thud and hiss of hydraulics.  
Then a shape entered the room, completely obscured by piles of rags. A long, heavy stalk at the forward-facing end of it stared off at the Korpsman with a flayed face pinned to its flat tip, through which a bright light shone.  
The Korpsman felt his fever rise as he backed off to the edge of his perch. The far-end of the mechanical monstrosity sprouted hundreds of wires which attached to a pair of miniature power generators that dragged along behind the mass. The base-legs of the generators scraped along the ground as the creature approached Heidrich like a prisoner's ball-and-chain.  
Heidrich's breathing grew erratic, then labored. He heaved and heaved, trembling with such intensity that his breaths grew shaky in distress.  
"Hush, little baby, don't you weep…" the creature sang, coming close to the Korpsman and reaching out with a manipulator arm. Heidrich yelped and slid clear off the back of the slab, and continued to crawl backwards on his rear. The machine-mass followed him too, circling around the seat to get close to him.  
"Poor, poor child…" it cooed. Heidrich hit up against the wall, and pressed up against it as close as he could. The creature came upon him, lifting itself up, its two forward limbs against the wall to expose its underbelly – the two human arms protruding from amidst the dirty and torn cloths dangled as if useless. Then the arms twitched and bent up, reaching for Heidrich. They palmed his face, rubbed through his hair, and stroked his neckline, and he was too afraid to react.  
"The bad man hurt you. I told him not to dare, but he couldn't help himself." The creature took its hands away from the Korpsman, and let them swing loosely again. "Don't you worry, my dear baby. He'll be punished for it. He'll know what your suffering was like."  
Pressurized air spewed from vents along the creature's underside; Heidrich could hear screws being undone and pneumatic locks unlatching. Strands of fabric tore apart to make way as some hatch on the creature slid open. Heidrich, nearly ready to faint, could hardly make out what he was seeing until the process was complete.  
From the belly of the mass dropped the upper body of a pale woman. Unkempt lengths of dead-silver hair obscured her face, and countless cables suspended her from the shell of the main body. The arms which had stuck out from the body belonged to her, studded with connector-ports and autosanguinator filaments poking up from under her flesh. Her skin shared a consistency with that of an embalmed corpse. Her lower body was either gone or hidden away in a skirt of wires which lead into the back of the mass.  
The woman pressed herself up with her arms – Heidrich could make out the soft glow of an augmetic lens before she shook her hair from her face. She smiled up at the stunned Korpsman with a motherly admiration, and climbed her way up along his body until she was level with his face. The whole left side of her bare chest was completely replaced with machinery, connected to her shell by huge pumps, fans and redundant tubing. There was no heat to her body – in fact, Heidrich could feel the cold of her hands up close along his neck.  
She tenderly kissed him on the forehead, and stared down into his eyes. "My sweet little child. You've been so brave. You've been hurt and hurt and hurt, but you've continued to suffer a life you don't deserve. But nobody will ever try to harm you ever again, my Heidrich…"  
She retracted from him, and slid back into her shell. The hatches closed over her; the locks and screws sealed her tight again. She backed away from the Korpsman, and slowly turned to exit.  
Heidrich promptly fainted watching what had once been the lady in red depart.

Unrelenting pain engulfed Torturer as he lay on the table. The sensations brought him no end of discomfort, yet at the same time the pain seemed to be all that kept him alert. Pain had been all he could feel in the weeks spent traveling – his armor's injectors had failed completely, leaving him wracked with the suffering his wounds brought.  
He heard the Magos enter. He attempted to lift his head to see her, but it was useless – he was confined in his armor, for his power pack had been removed by Sevanar's adepts before he was prepared for operation.  
"We shall begin by removing all articles of present coverage," Sevanar plainly announced. Her tone worried Torturer – every other time she had conversed with him, it had been with an annoyingly tranquil tune, as opposed to the dead-flatness with which she now spoke.  
The adepts in the room began to mumble prayers amongst themselves. The bottom of the table opened up, and dozens of mechadendrites shot up from within it and lifted Torturer up; another set grasped the front of his power armor. The two sets of manipulators began to work the Chaos Marine's coverings, releasing bolts and pulling up rivets which had long-since entangled with body tissue. Torturer howled as patches of flesh were torn free of his body; it only became worse when all the fasteners were removed. Torturer inwardly began cursing Magos Sevanar: she was working him without desperately-wanted anesthesia.  
"Bring in the armor segments now," the Magos ordered.  
The arms began to rip Torturer free of his exoskeleton, pulling away more and more of his skin with it. The pain was beyond compare for the Chaos Marine. Then the mechadendrite mass undid the nerve-connections to his augmetic legs, and wrested the bionics from his body… forcefully. The result sent a renewed shock through every part of the Chaos Marine's body.  
A number of the manipulator arms took hold of his rebreather, and then cut it loose from his face. With the mask gone Torturer could not draw breath, as the mechanisms of the rebreather had been hooked directly to his windpipe in light of his destroyed pharynx. He gurgled pitifully, trying to plea with the Magos to return his breath, fearful in spite of his impressive ability to retain air.  
Then the mechadendrites hoisted a pair of circular plates to the sides of his zygomatics – the plates held parallel to one-another as a second set of manipulators bored rivets deep into the bone. Torturer responded to this assault on his face with a scraping yowl from his muffled voice box. Another pair of mechadendrites jammed a long breathing tube down into the framework Phoeb had created in his throat, and after a few connections were drilled into the roof of his mouth the Chaos Marine was able to breathe again.  
Blood dripped down from within the wreckage of Torturer's maw and from his face, spattering against his front. He dizzily peered down at his withered body, distraught of the weakness he seemed to embody in that moment.  
"_Pathetic creature,_" sang a voice, resonating in Torturer's ears.  
Torturer squirmed, attempting to spot who had taunted him – the motion nearly caused a mechadendrite to solder an impulse cable meant for Phoeb's interfaces on the Chaos Marine's cheekbone to his ear.  
"_Who said that?_" Torturer demanded – in his weakness, the message did not make it out far enough from his mind to enter those of the tech-adepts.  
"_Weak mortal, you have no right to address me, let alone demand my name._"  
Unable to respond, Torturer simply watched as piece after piece was added to his lower face, rebuilding his jaw. Once the process was complete, a pair of adepts came forward with the Chaos Marine's new right leg carried between them – it was one of two huge, double-jointed bionic pieces ending in great talons worthy of a Raptor, and had been requested on very short notice, which greatly impressed Torturer.  
The manipulators took up the leg and began to adapt it to the metal cap over the Chaos Marine's flesh. After a few moments, the work was complete, and Torturer realized he could grasp with the claw while the left leg was added.  
"_You pout and scowl because you have been bested. Because you are weak._"  
The first parts of the actual power armor to be added were the guard-plates for the new legs. Once that was over, the mechadendrites began to layer the Marine's body in synskin, slowly forming a new set of under armor. When that was complete, the adepts renewed their chants and began to feed the manipulator-mass the leg-armor pieces, starting with the support-skeleton and its various motors before progressing to the actual armor itself.  
"_By what right do you claim yourself a true servant of the Great Gods, when there you are, exposed and fragile without your petty armor?_"  
The primary structure for the Chaos Marine's arms were then attached and wired together; an injection port was installed along his upper arm. Then the plates were slipped on, jointed, sealed, and the gauntlet was placed over his right hand. The same was done with the left hand, but a group of six adepts stepped up beside Torturer, holding up a power fist for the manipulators. The hulking weapon was locked in place, and power cables were connected in preparation for the power pack.  
"_You do not understand the first nuance of true power… of what it means to be a devotee of the true Gods._"  
The framework of Torturer's torso-section was added, and then as much of the wiring as could be done at the time was added along his back and chest. The simple bands of his abdominal armor were put in place and riveted together, and then slowly the chestplate was put in place, along with the backplate.  
A pair of manipulators quickly sealed the plates shut and withdrew to allow the insertion of the underpauldrons on the Chaos Marine's shoulders. A clear cable was run through the spot in the armor which corresponded with the injection port on Torturer's right arm; the cable was woven around his back, between the connector-joints for the power pack, and then was fed to a receptacle jack.  
"This way, you may continue to sustain yourself without the need to eat," Sevanar explained.  
"_Yes… because you are too weak to feed yourself now._"  
"_Who are you?…_" Torturer asked, bewildered.  
A set of manipulators leveled with Torturer's skull along the back of his head – drill-bits on the tips of each of them began to spin, and they jammed themselves down into his skull. The Chaos Marine's eyes rolled back into his head, and he began to groan.  
The world turned white for him, then black; color returned, except in vast clouds consisting of impossible combinations of hues.  
Before him in this vortex stood the perfect woman. She was naked, soft features hypnotizing Torturer from a simple glance alone.  
"_I am the will of Slaanesh, the Prince of Pleasure's immaculate finger,_" the woman told him. "_I am the Way, and you and I are now joined together in pact by the machinations of Magos Sevanar._"  
"_You are in my armor,_" Torturer realized.  
"_Yes. And I can offer you far greater opportunities than Khorne ever did._" The Way approached the Chaos Marine, and lifted up a perfectly slender hand to his brow. Instantly images filled Torturer's head: great acts of hedonism, thousands of worshippers, hundreds of triumphant conquests and untold wealths of every sort; his ascension to a greater state, and the rightful return of his lost features as well.  
"_Power, pure and true, can all be yours,_" the Way whispered – her voice was soft and low, and yet it filled Torturer's head, deafening out the sound of the drills burrowing deep into his mind and the pulse of his heart.  
"_Every glorious whim you wish shall be made reality. I will answer on your beck and call. I will be your loving slave, so long as you continue to worship the Dark Prince through your wondrous actions._"  
The Way brushed against Torturer's chest, and then dissipated. As he awoke from his dream, his eyes began to burn with an intense fury – the Magos was nearly finished installing his psy-amps. Mechadendrites rushed to connect all the proper cables along Torturer's neck and the back of his head, while the power pack was attached.  
Torturer's mindless squeals turned into a mad laughter as his armor came to life. Electricity arced from his power fist to every nearby piece of metal. The manipulators attached his pauldrons, one fashioned as a plain Mark-VII rounded pad and the other a tiered pair of plates with an elongated trim-edge.  
The transformation was complete. Unwilling to wait to be released, Torturer broke free from the supportive bed of mechadendrites, tearing away several of the ceiling-mounted arms with a light tug as he broke away. He descended upon Magos Sevanar's adepts, unable to stop laughing and killing.  
Torturer, the servant of Slaanesh, was born.


	14. Volume V Part 2

**2**  
**Solomon, Markayn Marches**

Lamortes had a long, interesting history with the hives of Solomon. In the early years of his work as a fledgling Tech-Priest, he had been given numerous posts among the local nobility as a menial – as his reputation and experience grew, he began to gain favor among the houses. After the dramatic end of his tenure on Mars, he had known no better than to return to contract himself out to the nobility.  
All he could do as he sat at the public tram terminal was reflect on his youth, and smile. _Home sweet home,_ he thought, even if home was a smoke-blanketed decaying forest of old spires.  
The Magos heard his vox ping, and took it out. "Max," he plainly said into the device.  
"Everything fine? Team's repositioning, couldn't get a good look at you."  
Commissar Audes. After the Lady and Freia's kidnapping on Fenksworld, Lamortes and Moerchen had feigned official Inquisitorial orders to relegate Audes and what remained of his regiment to their control, hoping to eventually use them to recover the Lady.  
"Please, just because they lose track of me for a few moments doesn't mean I'm dead," Lamortes said into the vox.  
Originally, the visit to Solomon had been made after Lamortes had swept for nearby Deathwatch teams at Moerchen's suggestion, in the interest of employing other Space Marines and whatever resources they had to track Vok. However, once the group was on Solomon, a message had been forwarded to the Magos inviting him to gain insight as to where Vok hid. Though well aware it could have been a trap, Lamortes was unwilling to let any such opportunity pass – there was simply nothing to be lost by investigating.  
To that end, Audes had tailed Lamortes into Hive Gloriana with a team of Korpsmen in tow.  
"That informant should be here any moment," the Magos announced, his voice low. "I know it's risky, but I don't want you following me. It could upset whoever this is."  
"Understood," Audes said, and the vox went silent. Lamortes smiled, and put the machine away, content in knowing that Audes would completely ignore his request.  
After a few minutes more of waiting, a fellow appeared, dressed in long robes and hooded such that almost all of his face was completely hidden – what Lamortes could see appeared augmetic.  
"Magos Maddox?" the figure asked, its thick accent somewhat disorienting to the Magos.  
"It is I," Lamortes playfully said.  
"Come with me," the figure commanded, and then turned and walked. Lamortes got up and followed.  
The robed man took Lamortes along the alleys – catwalks suspended within the abyssal crevices between spires. At one point the two passed a downed servitor, and Lamortes, intimately familiar with Solomon, stopped and made a brief prayer to the Omnissiah for the dead machine-slave before continuing on, warily watching the thing.  
Deeper still into Hive Gloriana the two went, to places Lamortes had not even known existed against the thick walls of the noble spires: ghost-shanties populated only by feral animals, sites of fresh ganger conflict, and strange and quiet shrines to the Emperor bedecked with the Aquila.  
Content that he had led the Magos far enough into the metropolitan hell, the figure stopped in front of a downward passageway carved into the side of a spire, and gestured inwards. Lamortes glanced over the surrounding garbage pit, and then entered.  
The angled passage went down quite far, and the walls frequently opened up into spaces large enough for grown men to hide behind – defensive positions, which spoke volumes about the residents of wherever Lamortes was going. Suddenly, the Magos was worried about what he had gotten himself into.  
Sure enough, when he went through a doorway at the very bottom of the passage, he entered into a room where a dozen alien weapons immediately turned on him.  
Maddox Lamortes lifted up his hands in surrender, and weakly grinned.  
"Well, balls," he said.

"This friend of yours is taking too long, Brother-Sergeant," Brother Argyros deadpanned.  
Sergeant Guenther did not look to the Ultramarine Apothecary. "Patience, Brother. Patience."  
"We have only waited a few minutes," noted Hrode, the Space Wolf. Even strapped into his power armor and jump pack, the bearded old Assault Marine looked like a harmless old man with his glinting soft eyes – a foolish notion, Guenther realized, for he was familiar with the wide range of specialties Hrode had practiced in his long service.  
All of Argyros' complaints disappeared when Moerchen appeared across the bay floor. Guenther stepped forward to meet the Chaplain, hands outstretched in welcome. The two embraced, and then after stepping back shook hands.  
"I see the Spirit of Death itself still reigns, Chaplain," Guenther commented.  
"And I am glad to see it burns bright in you, Brother," Moerchen told the Sergeant. "I am glad to see you well, but this is not a simple visitation."  
"I thought as much," Guenther said. "I would have been disappointed had it been anything less. What can my squad do for you?"  
Argyros came forward. "I warn, honored Chaplain, that we are on short time here. We have work to do."  
"I understand, but I come to you on a personal plea, brothers." Moerchen stepped back and looked over the three. "Is this your entire squad, Guenther? Surely the Deathwatch wouldn't insult you with such a small posting."  
"No, no, we are joined by Lexicanium Aselmos of the Imperial Fists, and a Black Shield. They are… elsewhere."  
The mention of the Black Shield piqued Moerchen's curiosity, but he ignored it. "I see. Then, I'll be quick."  
The Chaplain paced along the decking. "The Chapter has allowed me to be attached to an Ordo Malleus Inquisitor for several years now. A matter of weeks ago, that Inquisitor was abducted by a renegade, who we've determined to be working for a Hereticus Extremis."  
Moerchen kneeled, and bowed his head. "Brother-Sergeant Guenther, formerly of the Sixth Company, I plead to you as a fellow Death Spirits Marine, as your friend, and as a fellow Imperial servant: help me to save my Lady Inquisitor."  
The group was silent, until Apothecary Argyros stepped forward.  
"The Deathwatch has its own matters to deal with, Chaplain Moerchen," the Ultramarine said. "Your inability to protect this Inquisitor does not concern us, for we have higher tasks at hand."  
"But it is a Hereticus Extremis I hunt!" Moerchen objected. "This is not some petty criminal, this is a monster which has plagued the good fold of the Emperor for generations! No doubt stands that if we were to raid his lair we would uncover enough evidence for the Ordos to elevate him to the status of Hereticus Terminus."  
Hrode took a turn at questioning. "And what exactly is your plan for this one, then? Are you just going to save this Inquisitor, or do you truly intend to bring down the heretic as well?"  
"I will save the Lady Inquisitor, and I will destroy this heretic's machinations in the act. I and my colleagues have already gathered a small taskforce for this endeavor – I wish for your Kill-team to be the spearhead which grants us victory."  
Guenther grumbled, and folded his arms. "Argyros is right, though. We have come all this way from the Jericho Reach by way of the Jericho-Maw Gate, in pursuit of a very dangerous xeno."  
"Xeno?" Moerchen lifted his head at this.  
Guenther nodded. "The only one of its kind ever discovered. The Jericho Reach is full of those, really, but this one… we were meant to capture it, if possible, and take it back to Watch Fortress Erioch. But someone got to it first. We tracked them here to the Calixis Sector, and to this planet, but that is where the trail ends. Now that we are here, we must kill this thing. It is too risky to try to move it offworld. Were it not for that, and for the matter of tracking down whoever wanted this thing caught, then I would gladly help you."  
"Let me assist you, then. You know I am no stranger to combat-"  
Guenther scoffed. "Far from!"  
Moerchen amusedly grunted, and stood. "And my colleagues and I can help you with any of the investigation that we Astartes would not be able to undertake."  
Guenther rubbed at his chin, and smiled. "Yes… if we were to deal with this business together, then there would be nothing left for me to do, other than aid you in your cause, Brother-Chaplain. To be quite frank, though, I was counting on your willingness to assist me. I chose this meeting-place specifically for it."  
Moerchen turned his head to the side. "What?"  
"I had my reasons…"  
"Come, we should get underway." Moerchen hoisted his crozius arcanum. "Any more time we spend here is time these smugglers have to hide this creature. Where is it hidden?"  
The bay doors screeched as they began to slide open. "Funny you should ask about that…" Guenther said.  
Hrode and Argyros both ducked into cover; Guenther slapped Moerchen on the pauldron before hiding behind a crate. The Chaplain, caught flatfooted initially, followed the Deathwatch into concealment.

"You."  
Lamortes glanced around, attempting to ignore the kroot sniffing at his neck. One of the armored xenos pointed to him, and then patted its armored chest. The Magos beamed at him in mockery of the situation.  
"You are Magos Maddox Lamortes?" the xeno asked, his accent rolling over the 'r' in the Magos's name.  
Lamortes tilted his head from side to side like a fool. "Why, yes, that is me. I am he. He is I."  
"Your wit will get you killed one day," the xeno warned.  
"Why, that's what they tell me."  
The others in the room chuckled at this, but the one speaking to Lamortes was not at all amused. "I am growing weary of interaction with you Gue'la."  
"I'm sorry?"  
The xeno grumbled. "Human. Humans. That is your word for your species, yes? Human?"  
"Then I am terribly sorry to test your patience." Lamortes eyed the kroot as it squawked in dissatisfaction and backed away from him. "Kroot. I know them. They can be found in the few pockets of frontier-space around here, working as mercenaries for Rogue Traders and less legitimate business ventures. I know they originate from some other place, though, which implies…"  
"Enough commentary." The xeno motioned to the guards to lower their weapons, then stepped out into the center of the chamber. "I understand a friend of yours has been kidnapped, yes?"  
Lamortes narrowed his eyes. "How does any such business interest you?"  
"Because from what I have heard, I suspect I know who did it." The xeno turned and walked up to the back wall – with a few pushes in proper places, the face of the wall slid downwards into the floor, revealing a holographic display – on the edge of what appeared to be the projector sat a data-slate.  
"Yrtzen Vok. Is that name familiar to you?" Lamortes winced at this, which satisfied the xeno. "Yes, thought as much. We wish to see him dead, too."  
"Why is that?" Lamortes asked.  
"That is none of your concern. Know that he has betrayed us."  
The xeno took up the data-slate, and stepped over to the Magos. "This contains a detailed list of locations where he might be hiding. We know he makes a circuit of them to ensure that he is never found."  
Lamortes took the data-slate. "What is the cost of this information?"  
"You will kill Vok. That is all we ask." The xeno folded its arms behind its back. "Do not even bother trying to inform your colleagues of us, either. We shall be gone from this world before the night is up."  
Lamortes frowned, looked at the data-slate, then back up at the xeno. "Fair enough. You have my word."  
"Good." The xeno looked up at the hooded one, standing in the doorway, robes lifted to avoid tripping - looking at him, Lamortes suddenly realized that the aliens all possessed hooved feet.  
The lead-xeno ordered the disguised one in what Lamortes assumed was their language, and then looked back at the Magos. "You will be escorted back to your previous location. If he is harmed in any way, we will invoke a wrath upon you of immeasurable magnitude. Go."  
And with that, Lamortes gladly left.

The bay doors slowly opened wide, shining the harsh light of the system's sun into the bay. A heavy cargo freighter hovered in, and put down in the center of the hangar. Moerchen could hear crewmen disembarking from the craft, shouting orders and directions as the craft's engines died down.  
Then the Chaplain looked up: across the hangar, on a walkway connecting the bay's observation post to the neighboring hangars, a Marine clad in the black of the Deathwatch came up out of cover with a heavy missile launcher braced over his shoulder.  
"Down!" Guenther shouted into his comm-bead. Moerchen dropped to the hangar floor as the Marine on the walkway fired the launcher.  
The front of the freighter detonated, then the rest went up, pouring wreckage over the hangar. Guenther leapt from cover, unslinging his boltgun; Moerchen unholstered his bolt pistol and followed his comrade into the open.  
What crew had survived the blast had been knocked prone, and were easy targets for Guenther while Hrode and Argyros rushed into the shattered fuselage of the craft, its remaining mass wreathed in black smoke.  
As the smoke settled down to normal visibility, a massive shipping crate could be made out sitting in the midst of the wreckage. With his helmet, Moerchen could see far more detailed pictures of it, including "Turas-Hie" on the side. A thermographic view indicated the vast majority of the crate was extremely cold – cryogenics.  
"Looks like the thing's containment made it out intact," Argyros noted. "How should we approach eliminating it?"  
"An orbital bombardment would be attractive," joked Guenther. "But of course, that won't work. Perhaps we should contact a civilian freighter and have it lifted to a point where we can throw it into the local star?"  
Hrode laughed at this. "We should have left the damned craft intact, then," he shouted.  
All planning shattered when a section of the crate tore open from within, a wicked bone-colored blade as long as a Space Marine was tall protruding from the hole. Argyros and Hrode immediately backed off from the crate as an entirely different sent of blades began to cut the container down its midsection, creating a sizeable hole.  
An insect-like head tore through the gap, hundreds of chittering mandibles squirming and clicking beneath a cone-like skull with a dozen glowing yellow eyes. The top of the abomination's cranium-analog was crowned with overlapping plates, atop which were a variety of long, blade-like protrusions. Ice sloughed off the top of its mass in vast sheets. The thing's maw was producing all numbers of horrible sounds. It squalled at the Space Marines as they opened fire on it, raining thick spittle against everything before it, including Moerchen and Guenther.  
The thing ripped its way free of its imprisonment, sliding out a grub-like body upon two pairs of blade-like appendages used as stilts. The monstrosity's backside was covered in segmented, chitinous carapace, which brought Moerchen quickly recognized.  
"A Tyranid!" he shouted, before going to cover to avoid a reaping swipe of the monster's scything limbs. As if to confirm its nature, it screeched at the group.  
Argyros and Hrode's boltguns were having little effect on the beast – whenever a round exploded against its carapace, it failed to even leave a mark; where a bolt hit its flesh, the damage was almost negligible.  
"Aim for the head!" Guenther shouted over his comm-bead. "Disperse your fire, keep it guessing what to attack! Arm Kraken bolts when your clip is depleted!"  
Moerchen saw the Marine up on the walkway rearming his launcher. Another Marine, his armor painted the dark blue of the Librarium, rushed into the bay from a side-passage with an Aquila staff clutched in his hands.  
Apparently aware that Guenther was the one commanding its attackers, the Tyranid lunged at him with its forward pair of scything arms. The thing missed an attempt to rake him in, but instead managed to graze his face with a second swipe – tearing one of Guenther's eyes from its socket and cutting deep into his nose.  
"Guenther is down!" Moerchen shouted, and quickly began firing again to get the monster away from his fellow. The Chaplain gained the Tyranid horror's attention with a few shots aimed for an eye-cluster. The thing quickly decided Moerchen was a more immediate threat than the dazed and bleeding Guenther, and scrambled towards him on its legs.  
The Marine on the walkway fired on it then, his aim intersecting with where the Tyranid's head would be as it clambered for Moerchen. The hit was direct, and the effects gruesome: the Tyranid stumbled to the side, howling, a large part of its left eye-cluster disintegrated by the krak missile. Alien gore dripped to the hangar floor, blue blood raining down from the wound.  
Lexicanium Aselmos raised his hand towards the Tyranid. His eyes burned blue-white, he cried out in fury, and brilliant streaks of electricity arced from his palm to the abomination, contacting with its underbelly. The thing, already attempting to recover from the krak missile, fell over on its side.  
Moerchen and Hrode quickly took the opportunity to charge the overturned behemoth, weapons raised to strike at the fallen creature.  
While Hrode contented himself to assault the Tyranid's underbelly, Moerchen decided the best course of action was to take off its legs. While the thing twitched and shuddered, Moerchen took his crozius to its armored limb, and swung the powered mace in an executing motion.  
The crozius simply bounced off the carapace, quite uselessly. A sheath of electricity licked the surface of the creature's plates, dying down as the Chaplain took his weapon away from its surface.  
Astounded, Moerchen was caught when the thing lifted up its head again. It swept Moerchen's feet out from under him as it struggled to bring itself back upright. The Lexicanium launched another arc at it, but the creature seemed to be resisting the paralyzing strike, pushing against it. Another missile from the walkway struck its mandible-mass, destroying it and disorienting the Tyranid again.  
When the Tyranid collapsed, Hrode charged for its head. He leapt with his jump pack, and landed square in the bloody mass of its ruined eyes. The Space Wolf stabbed his chainsword down into the hole, flecks of ichor spitting up along the teeth.  
The weapon bit deeper and deeper into the thing's mass, causing it to writhe and flail, but Hrode was firmly lodged in between two sets of bone, and had little trouble holding while it attempted to get up. Finally, after much struggle, the Tyranid stopped squirming.  
Hrode stepped down from the thing's skull, blue blood dripping from every edge of his armor. His grey-brown beard was matted with gore.  
"That thing's plating… was energized?" Moerchen looked over the Deathwatch squad – the Apothecary was tending to Guenther, while the Black Shield was loading up his gear on the walkway.  
"It is what made it unique," Lexicanium Aselmos said as he approached. "But it is dead now. Hopefully we do not see another strain like this again."  
"Indeed. A creature which can shrug off power weaponry is a troubling prospect." Moerchen watched Argyros lift up the downed Sergeant. "What shall we do now?"  
"Return to our vessel, the _Grim Vigil,_ so that we may get the Sergeant the care he needs. You are welcome to come with us, especially after this."  
"What of the xeno's corpse?"  
"Brother Viktor – the 'Black Shield,' he will load it with explosives to destroy the mass. We'll inform the Inquisitorial offices here that this hangar needs to be sealed off and cleansed of the alien's taint."  
The Lexicanium gestured to the others, and they left with their wounded Sergeant.

Hrode crossed his arms, and furrowed his brow. "You mean to tell me that this… Yrtzen Vok… was smuggling that disgusting creature?"  
Moerchen nodded. "I saw it on the crate. Turas-Hie is one of Vok's front-agencies. We discovered this after one of their superfreighters turned out to be a warship under his command."  
Guenther, sporting an augmetic preparation-patch over his eye, and a long suture-line across his scarred face, grinned softly – anything more hurt him. "Then I suppose we have no choice but to help you. This Yrtzen Vok is a menace."  
Moerchen bowed his head. "I am in your debt, Brother."  
"It is already repaid, Moerchen." Guenther looked over his squad: they sat, listening, amongst crates in one of the _Grim Vigil's_ hangars. "I trust none of you will object to assisting the Chaplain and the Magos?"  
Nobody said anything.  
"Good to hear. But where do we begin to search for this Vok?"  
Lamortes, squatting in the shadow of the shuttle from the _Wrath of Justice_, spoke up then: "I ascertained some information from my contacts as to where he might be hiding…" He held up the data-slate he had acquired earlier. "It's all here. A bunch of rarely-visited systems, several of which are uncharted, but can be located by a good Navigator…"  
"Where did that information come from?" Guenther asked, astonished.  
"No," Moerchen quickly said. "Better we do not know. All that matters now is that we have a means of hunting Vok down."  
Hrode excitedly bellowed with hardy laughter, his voice voice ringing through the hangar. "Then let's get under way! There's no time to waste! This opportunity could vanish at any instant!"  
"Yes, but we should make a small detour." Lamortes raised a finger. "We are two vessels, one little more than a heavily-armed frigate, the other a simple Astartes destroyer. Vok demonstrated enough firepower to annihilate a good half of Battlefleet Calixis. If we're going to go try chase him down, we should at least increase our chances first."  
"What do you suggest?" asked Moerchen.  
"I suggest it's time we get the _Valkyrie_ out of drydock," Lamortes said.


	15. Volume V Part 3

**V**  
**REBIRTH**

**3**  
**The **_**Angrboedha**_

Sanity, Losa decided, was a rare commodity.  
One prominent memory of her youth was asking the Master if he was sane; the response had been a sudden and booming laugh. Similarly, the Traitor Marine could be heard to produce such noises as he roamed the halls of the _Angrboedha,_ waiting for the Master to discuss their future associations.  
Losa had never dared ask Magos Sevanar, but knowing what Lunelle Sevanar had become was indication enough that no question needed to be asked. From what word had reached Losa about Sevanar's captive and how much time the Magos was spending with him, there could be little doubt his own sanity was hanging by a thread, at best.  
The lift trembled, and the doors opened to the enginarium.  
Losa straightened the edge of her jacket, and strode off the lift.

The Death Korps had many sacred traditions for the position of Quartermaster. The Death Korps valued its Quartermasters as mascots and icons, for with their skull masks and ribcage-like cuirasses, they looked as though they were idols of the God-Emperor Himself on the Throne.  
As Heidrich had heard, the Quartermaster had once been needed to scour battlefields and scavenge any useful materiel from the fallen: guns, ammunition, armor, uniforms, air filters – so-on, such was the need for the dead.  
At times, however, the Quartermasters would come upon wounded Korpsmen. Most injured soldiers suffered tears in their environmental suits, allowing deadly radiation and toxic air to leak in and slowly wither them away. The sick, the half-dead and the dying were liabilities, ones the Korps could not handle; so the Quartermasters would unholster their sidearms and aim to kill, glaring at the dying Korpsmen with their skull-masks to remind the departing that they had not been abandoned.  
Heidrich's old regimental Quartermaster, Dolfus, became a popular subject of his dreams while his physical sickness receded. In the best dreams, Heidrich would numbly reach up to Dolfus while the venerable Quartermaster aimed a laspistol to his face with a copy of the _Potestas Imperia_ clutched in his other hand; the worst nightmares had Heidrich crawling along, his body suffering a long and drawn-out decay, while Dolfus walked off into the horizon. At the very least, the visions were much less unpleasant than everything which had come before.  
When Heidrich awoke, however, he was often greeted by the very nightmarish form of his benefactor. She had not come as near to him as during her first visit, nor had she done anything which left the Korpsman endangered, but still Heidrich had been too overwhelmed by shock and fear to so much as speak to her. Most of the time she attended to his most obvious needs and then left him alone.  
This time, she lingered after he awoke. She paced around the cell, her vox humming a soft tune which would have been soothing in any other situation. She had placed a meal-tray at the edge of Heidrich's bed-slab, which he had not yet touched. She was expecting something, the Korpsman realized.  
Heidrich nervously looked back and forth from the woman's shell to the tray, searching for something to say. The idea of simply keeping quiet appealed to the Korpsman, but at the same time the image of Dolfus seemed to encourage him to speak.  
So Heidrich cleared his throat, and the woman turned her optical stalk to him. Heidrich remained undaunted by the illuminated face at the end of the shell's "eye," with its features contorted and stretched as though it were screaming.  
"Who…" Heidrich hesitantly began, "who are you?"  
The woman's shell turned to him, which nearly made him regret speaking.  
"Why, I'm your mother," the woman said.  
"My mother?" the Korpsman groaned. "But that's impossible, I'm from Krieg. I don't have parents."  
"You have a parent, my Heidrich," the woman corrected him, "and she spent twenty years waiting for the opportunity to get her precious little baby back, to protect him, to let him know he was loved."  
Heidrich, utterly confused, had begun thinking of further questions when a sharp knock against the cell's doorframe caught his attention.  
Looming in the doorway was a thin woman, wearing a jacket over a tight bodyglove. Her light-brown hair was tied back into a short tail, emphasizing her brow. Her sharp eyes glistened in contrast of how the shadow circled them. She kept a straight, hard face, as though the sight before her was uninteresting. She radiated a feel of calm professionalism.  
"The Master sent me down to see him," the newcomer announced. Slowly, reluctantly, the thing which had once been the lady in red backed away from Heidrich.  
The newcomer watched her move, then stepped into the room and slid to the side of the door. "Preferably alone, Magos."  
The Magos complied and exited, and the door slid shut behind her.  
The newcomer approached Heidrich, folding her arms across her chest. "Stand," she commanded.  
Heidrich's initial reaction was to refuse. Quickly however, his body began to move of its own accord; he resisted, attempting to hold tight to the side of the slab, but it was for naught – he stood.  
"Impressive," the woman noted, with some hint of mockery, "you resisted."  
Heidrich fought back the urge to scowl; the woman laughed, and began to circle him, looking him over.  
"So," she said, stopping to his side, "we meet again."  
"What do you mean?" Heidrich asked uneasily.  
"Scintilla. You and the Lady Inquisitor tried to arrest me."  
The sorceress, Heidrich realized. "What do you want?"  
"Like I said, I've been asked to come down here and see why the Magos is so interested in you."  
"Where is 'here' anyway?"  
"A ship." The woman stepped in front of Heidrich again. "A big ship."  
Heidrich lowered his head and frowned. "The ship that attacked the _Valkyrie…_"  
"Yes, actually. She's called the _Angrboedha._"  
"So this Master is… Yrtzen Vok?"  
The woman grunted. "You know," she noted.  
"I've spent the last year hunting him ," Heidrich said.  
"Of course." The woman looked away. Heidrich began to consider some of the possible outcomes of his current situation; sensing his apprehension, the woman glanced back at him. "I assure you, if you were wanted dead, then you would be dead. The Magos obviously doesn't want that."  
Heidrich grumbled to himself, and scratched the back of his head. "Who is… the Magos?"  
"Magos Lunelle Sevanar," the woman told him. "The Master says he found her some twenty years ago, when he needed an optimal replacement for the last Tech-Priest he employed."  
The implication that something as comparably wrong as Sevanar existed worried Heidrich greatly – once again, the woman felt the emotion and its roots.  
"The Master has apparently had hundreds of Tech-Priests in his fold," she explained. "Sevanar, he says, is nothing truly important."  
"Why does she keep calling me her child?"  
The woman frowned and shifted her posture. "I don't know. The Magos is rather disconnected from reality. She might have any number of reasons for picking you up."  
The woman began to pace back and forth. "I know that she's always had a motherly streak, though. When I was a little girl, she would send me gifts, or put things out for me. She would find ways to talk to me, like from behind a wall, or through a vox panel, and she'd speak to me like I was her daughter. Between my tutoring sessions, there wasn't much time to act my age… but she tried to make me happy."  
The memory brought a smile to her face. "I only saw her face-to-face after a few years. I cried, I remember. She was terrifying to look at, and she was ashamed of it… but you can't really go back to being human when you turn yourself into something like that."  
She shoved her hands in her jacket's pockets, and nodded to the Korpsman. "It was nice getting to know you. Thanks for listening, I…" She looked down at the floor, hesitating. "I guess I really needed someone to talk to. Hopefully, the Magos doesn't turn you into a Maletek servitor, and hopefully you'll eventually agree to work with us. See you around, Heidrich."  
"Goodbye, Losa."  
It was only after Losa Proga had left that Heidrich realized they had never exchanged names.

Once the Lady's leg was treated and mended by a medicae servitor, a pair of cyber-partisans took her along the corridors to a vast, cylindrical passage which ran along, forwards and backwards, until it was impossible to discern an end. Rails lined the surface of the passageway; a platform carrying a group of cyber-partisans passed by at great speeds, indicating that it was a tram.  
The cyber-partisans summoned a platform, and boarded it with the Lady. The transport started off the terminal slowly, but quickly gained speed, turning the surroundings to a blur. After less than a minute of travel, however, the platform slowed, and then eased up to a terminal – the Lady looked along the railway, and saw what she assumed to be its end.  
The cyber-partisans brought her back to her feet and forced her along again, back into the ship's halls. They carried on, until they came upon a set of large, arched doors. One of the cyber-partisans emitted a binary-burst, and the doors slid open.  
Within was a long room with a vaulted ceiling, containing a chamber-length table – seats lined its sides, and its surface was covered in foods of every variety.  
At the far end of the dining hall sat an eating man, his back hunched over and his head bowed to his plate. The cyber-partisans pulled the Lady along towards him; as they came close, he glanced up at them.  
"Lord Vok is terribly kind to his guests," the man commented. Speaking twisted and contorted his scarred, stubbled face in ways that made the Lady nauseous. His augmetic eyes, masterfully built to imitate the proper shape of the human eye, shone a flickering metallic blue, and the Lady could see the focusing apparatuses within as they spun. No hair grew on his head, but an array of symbols etched into his skull branded him as a servant of darker powers.  
The Lady knew him - seeing him made her sick. "Anxo."  
Inquisitor Anxo smiled up at her. "It is so good to see you again, my Lady."  
The Lady Inquisitor resisted the temptation to spit in his face. "I killed you," she flatly said.  
"Ah, not quite, my dear." Anxo beamed wide, revealing his teeth, which were ground to a dagger-like consistency. "You cut off my legs, you shot me in the kidney, you broke both of my arms and shattered my entire ribcage, destroyed one lung..."  
He sharply inhaled before he continued, as if to indicate the lung. "And then you set me on fire - oh yes, nobody could forget that part. But, you did not actually kill me; you simply left me for dead. Your mistake, that."  
The Lady's nostrils flared as her urge to frown prevailed. "My mistake, definitely," she said, then lunged forward against the cyber-partisans' grasp and kicked Anxo in the face. The Inquisitor fell over and almost completely cleared his seat, taking his dish with him. He recovered, put the plate back on the table, wiped what he could from his robes, then stood to watch as the cyber-partisans delivered a shock to the Lady.  
Anxo sighed at her cries. "You've been taking cues from that Arbitrator bitch, I see."  
He wiped the blood away from his lip, taking a tablecloth to stop more from leaving his broken nose. "Not that she'll be living long if she makes any such performance. I'm truly loath to let a Xanthite live, especially the one that caused me such a great deal of pain, but Vok would visit unspeakable horrors on me for doing so."  
The Lady glared up at him, forcing a laugh from Anxo. "Oh please. I can't think of anyone else who would hold a grudge as long as you."  
"You deserve every bit of it…" the Lady snapped. "Every bit, for every disgusting deed you've committed."  
"Oh, you know but a few of my 'disgusting deeds,' my sweet. I assure you, killing Sobek was-"  
"Don't you dare say that name!" the Lady screamed, pulling against the combined grip of the cyber-partisans. "You have no right to say it!"  
"Sobek. Sobek, Sobek, Sobek. I shall say it all I please, my Lady."  
The Lady squirmed under her restraints. "I hope there's a deep pit specifically for you in whatever reach of hell your foul masters choose for you."  
"Oh yes, I'm sure there is one… for me." Anxo smiled, and returned to his seat. "But we both know there is no such thing for you, is there?  
He sat back, and took the cloth away from his nose, contented that it was no longer bleeding. "The truth is, Master Vok insisted you sit with me, that we might get a chance to talk. But it's clear you're in no mood to speak."  
"Why should I talk with a filthy Phaenonite?" the Lady said in a low voice.  
"My dear, you already are," mocked Anxo.  
The rogue Inquisitor began plucking food from the table to refill his plate. "You see, I know well that you're very much afraid of death. Understandable, really, given your lack of a soul – metaphorically and literally, of course."  
The Lady flinched at his words; content with the damage, Anxo chuckled and continued: "Master Vok, however, has only the utmost interest in your abilities. He's already encountered Untouchables, many times – but never someone who could cancel out a daemon. He wants to know what makes you tick."  
The Phaenonite took a piece of meat from his plate and ate it – once he had swallowed the food, he got up from his seat, and kneeled before the Lady. "Just think," he whispered, "Vok has the secrets of the Golden Age of Man, all around us. You think I survived on simple luck? You think, perhaps, that juvenat is the only way to prolong one's life, temporary as it is? My dear, there are ways to deny death… truly stupendous ways. You wouldn't have to worry about dying in your old age – why, age would cease to matter at all. And, there would be no need for continued treatments."  
The Lady's breath came out as a shiver, which satisfied Anxo.  
The Phaenonite returned to his seat, and began eating again. "Consider that, if you will. I assure you, cooperation has very wonderful benefits. Refuse us, and worry not: we shall keep you alive, but your days will be spent in infinite misery for your spite." He looked up at the cyber-partisans, and nodded. "Take her away."  
The cyber-partisans complied, turning the Lady around and walking her out.

Losa had made a good half of the journey to the bridge when the Master summoned her to his side in the questioning chambers. She obeyed, dreading what she knew was coming.  
When Losa arrived at the specific room the Master occupied, she found him, circling a spin-rack to which the Lady Inquisitor was pinned.  
"If one thing has survived the ages," Vok began, "it's man's propensity for torture. Magnificent, isn't it? When I found this vessel, adrift in the space between stars in the Rifts of Hecaton, I found numerous chambers where, alongside tools of mending, there were devices meant for inflicting incalculable pain on the human anatomy."  
A low grumble surged from the Master, eventually forming a low chortle. "Certainly amazing, I think – even in mankind's greatest era, there was still a use for torture."  
"You mean you didn't build this ship?" the Lady asked.  
"Goodness, no," Vok said. "I outfitted it to suit my purposes, but I did not build it. I must admit, constructing a vessel like this without any sort of template is far and beyond my abilities.  
"The Imperium makes do with petty, weak materials the Emperor scrounged up from the irradiated scrapheaps of Terra and Mars, but deep in the reaches of the galaxy, man prospered even amidst the warp storms which embroiled the galaxy. The Great Crusade uncovered many different peoples, subjugated most of them, destroyed the rest… but there were others still, some of which persist to this day, and some of which have long been dead."  
Vok leaned forward, staring down at the Lady Inquisitor. "The builders of this vessel were the lattermost. I have come to understand the _Angrboedha_ was meant to be – shall we say, a colony ship. Undaunted by a lack of warp travel, one particularly advanced society concluded their only option was to simply build city-ships to take the nearest worlds."  
The Master looked up at the ceiling. "A masterpiece, I feel. I can attach all the subsystems I wish, all the weapons – I can even power other ships, but yet nothing seems to tax the vessel. It is as a miniscule insect, draining blood from a colossal apex predator."  
"You seem very pleased with yourself," the Lady noted.  
Vok stood straight and laughed. "Oh yes, very much so. But enough gloating, we must move on to the matter at hand…"  
The Master emitted a burst of binary to the cyber-partisan manning the rack's control panel – the cyborg keyed a few runes on the panel, and the Lady's table turned over on its side, bringing her upright.  
"You, of course. There are many undiscovered treasures to yet be found in this galaxy, but at this particular moment, you are of the most interest to me." Vok looked over the Lady. "How is it that a null can possibly be strong enough to actually cancel out a summoned daemon, could completely lock down a daemonhost, and inflict enough pain to cause a trained psyker to vomit?"  
"Losa, come here," Vok commanded; warily, his servant approached. "Now, is this field you project artificial, or created by an emitter?" The Master eyed her ring, still safely in place on her hand. He grasped for it, and began to lift it from her finger. "No, not the latter. It's too strong for such a small device…"  
As soon as the ring came off, Losa retched, screaming, and backed away with quaking knees. She overturned a cart laden with vivisection tools, continuing her flailing in a desperate attempt to get away from the Lady.  
Vok looked on as Losa, wailing, put her back to the far wall, heaving, writhing, unable to find escape.  
"Interesting," Vok said. "So it is natural."  
The Master strode over to Losa, who had curled up in the corner. "Up!" he commanded, and lifted her by the collar of her jacket. Vok dragged her back towards the Lady, completely ignoring his servant's desperate attempts to escape and flee. He adjusted his grip, slipping his hand under her arm and taking her by the abdomen, and forced her up close to the Lady – blood began to run from Losa's nose, and her crying only intensified.  
Vok slipped the ring back onto the Lady's finger, and Losa began to calm. "I see…" the Master grumbled, and tossed Losa aside – the psyker stumbled and rolled before coming to rest on her belly. As she lifted herself up, she gagged, and threw up the contents of her stomach.  
"Now, Losa, why don't you tell us about Sevanar's little guest?" Vok asked as his servant struggled back to her feet. The Lady narrowed her eyes.  
"She…" Losa hesitated, ventilating hard. "She tends to him. So far… she hasn't made him a servitor."  
"Him?" the Lady said, quickly growing worried.  
"The Death Korps clone, Heidrich."  
The Lady's eyes widened at this.  
"Ah yes, another soul you failed to protect," Vok said. "I'm sure you understand, though, that whether or not Magos Sevanar takes care of him, he is on my ship."  
"Is this… is this some sort of trick?" the Lady cautiously asked.  
Vok tilted his head. "Why would it be? But now that he is here, I suppose I have more leverage against you…"  
Vok clutched the Lady's jaw, and forced her to look him in the eyes. "If you disobey me, or show any disrespect, then he and Inquisitor Freia will suffer. They are of no use to me. They live on my whims."  
With his free manipulator arm, Vok unfastened the Lady's bindings. "So should you wish to extend their meager lives, perhaps you should behave yourself."  
Vok let go of her, and stepped back. He issued binary commands to the cyber-partisans, then left. Losa stared at the Lady for a few seconds, watching the cyborgs free her from the table, before following after the Master.  
Vok did not go far along the hall, however, before he abruptly stopped.  
Losa waited patiently for a few seconds as the Master stood still, before speaking: "What's wrong?"  
"Inquisitor Freia has been apprehended following an attempted 'escape'," the Master told her.  
Vok began moving again. "Inquisitor Anxo will speak with the Lady once more. If he cannot get her to side with him this time, then we will just have to kill Freia."  
"But the Lady hates Anxo, does she not?" Losa noted. "Surely she won't listen to him."  
"Of course not," Vok plainly said. "It is an exercise in obedience, nothing more. The Lady still thinks she has some position of power… she thinks she has the right to be disrespectful. We will show her how wrong she is."  
Dumbfounded, Losa stood still, pondering the logic behind her Master's choice. She quickly concluded the decision did not operate on logic, and hurried after to catch up.

Next, the cyber-partisans dragged the Lady along the halls until they came upon a single room much like her original cell: it was a box-like room, devoid of any items save for a table and two seats. The cyber-partisans put her down in the farthest chair, and left her alone.  
After what felt like a half-hour of waiting, Inquisitor Anxo entered. As if half-expecting her to attack him, he stood by the door after closing it.  
For a matter of seconds the Lady stared over at him with deep contempt. "Well?"  
Anxo opened his mouth as though to speak, causing the ritual scars along his lips to form obscene symbols – but he decided to sit down across from the Lady first.  
"This is your only chance," he told her. "Will you swear allegiance to the Phaenonite's creed, the only creed?"  
"You're insane," the Lady rasped. "You know what the Phaenonites did, Anxo. Bringing them back is insanity."  
Anxo raised his eyebrow, and sat silent in thought.  
"But my Lady," he spoke up, "there's nothing that needs bringing back. They're alive and well."  
"Grox shit."  
"No, the truth is, my dear, the Calixian Conclave never fully eradicated us. They destroyed the stockpiles of technology on Phaenon Prime, yes, and eventually the planet itself… but plenty of our number escaped. We hid. We waited."  
The Lady narrowed her eyes towards Anxo.  
"We have many friends, you see." The Phaenonite gestured to the room. "Many avenues from which we are slowly regaining our strength."  
"You'll never amount to anything."  
"Oh, but we already have." Anxo leaned forward. "There are hundreds of Phaenonite Inquisitors active even now. There are hundreds of thousands of able bodies willing to die for our cause. Millions more are unwittingly moved by our strings."  
Anxo stood up from his seat, and paced around the room. "The Imperium is dying, my Lady – slowly and surely, but you know it. Each passing year, the light of the Astronomican fades… the Emperor himself is dying.  
"There is no hope for humanity without the Warp! We must learn to use it, to manipulate it, to travel it safely without reliance on the beacon of Terra. Accepting Phaenonism is a matter of survival!"  
"And how would someone like me fit into your goals?" the Lady sardonically hissed.  
"If we can study how it is that you developed, we can understand how Untouchables formed… even how Pariahs are born! We will be one step closer to an unstoppable humanity, one with no need for the pathetic cults to Chaos!"  
Anxo slid close to the Lady, laying his hands on her shoulders. "And with partners like Vok, we will inevitably reach our goals."  
The Lady scoffed. "You're hopeless," she whispered. "Vok has you wrapped around his finger with hints of power. He won't give you anything."  
"Quite the contrary, my Lady, I am Master Vok's loyal servant," Anxo told her. "I, as do many others, patiently await the day where he finally dies by some means, that his techno-arcana is relinquished to our hands. He knows this well."  
"You fool," the Lady wheezed. "You turned your back on the Ordos, so that you could… worship that monster?"  
"Don't be so naïve, my Lady," Anxo said. "My loyalties were never to the Calixian Conclave – I have served Vok since the earliest days!"  
The Lady's eyes widened at this.  
"It was he who sponsored me as I worked my path as an Acolyte, he who gave me the means to contact the Phaenonites, he who helped me to become an Inquisitor! I am only returning his favor. Sobek died because Master Vok commanded it-"  
The Lady lunged forward and clamped her jaw down on Anxo's nose. The Phaenonite screamed and spasmed, flailing his arms in panic before beating down on the Lady's back. He struck her head repeatedly, trying to force her to let go, but she did not – she clenched her teeth tighter, drawing plentiful hot blood from the wound.  
The Lady let go as the cyber-partisans outside the door entered, but they quickly took her in their arms and applied an electric shock, causing her entire body to lock up. The cyborgs released her, allowing her to fall to the floor, dazed.  
Anxo, grasping his nose with both his hands, stumbled out of his seat and kicked her. "You spoiled bitch!" he shouted, spraying blood which had run down from his wound.  
The Lady grabbed him by his leg as soon as she regained control over her arms. "That creature was responsible? You killed my teacher because he told you to?"  
"And I would do it a thousand times over!" Anxo yelled as he shook her free. With blood dripping through his fingers he stormed out, leaving the cyber-partisans while they electrocuted the Lady once again.  
"You made your choice! You will pay dearly for it!" he shouted, and shut the door behind him.

Losa stood in the corner of the watch-nest as the Master gazed down through the thick layers of warded glass – she tried to avoid glancing at what could be seen of the chamber below, for the patterns which lined its walls brought her no end of nausea. She wondered if her Master was even affected – as with everything else, however, she suspected it did nothing to him.  
A human face replaced the holographic interface of a panel on the support struts of the glass; Vok looked to it. "So that Losa can hear, if you please," the Master said.  
The face skewed as though nodding. "The Lady has refused Anxo's offer."  
"And did he survive the encounter, I wonder?"  
"She assaulted him and defaced his nose," the hologram announced. "He is presently on his way to have it mended."  
"More scars to add to his collection, then. He should be pleased." Vok looked back through the glass. "And is Freia on her way?"  
"Sustained shock-induction kept Inquisitor Freia from resisting the partisans. She will arrive in the next seventy-two seconds."  
"Good. Have the Lady brought here as well. Tell the partisans to put her in the foremost starboard chains, and ensure the corpus-scriptor is oriented in this direction. I wish to see the effects on Freia, and I want her to be looking directly at the Lady while it is done."  
Vok looked over at Losa as the face faded away. "I trust you aren't surprised that I had Freia ordered here before the news came," he said.  
Losa shook her head.  
"Most excellent. You are learning."

The cyber-partisans lead the Lady into a vast chamber – as she vainly struggled, she looked up, noting the observation bay built into the ceiling, several stories up.  
"If memory serves, and it always does, you fought with one of my daemonhosts – Iraktalh, it called itself," called Vok's voice. "I'm sure you were perplexed by its perfect mix of power and stability."  
The cyber-partisans chained the Lady to the floor, facing away from the observation bay. They took her ring from her finger, and left her there, sealing the heavy doors to the room shut. "The truth is, the method by which I create my daemonhosts is unique. It is less occult than it is mechanical. I stumbled on the technique by accident, as such discoveries often are made: when a very specific proportion of human flesh is marked in very specific patterns which are lined with psycho-reactive residue, it is made into an empyric conduit… are you familiar with the technology? I'm sure you are."  
A capsule rose up before the Lady - she immediately screamed when she realized Roslindis Freia stood pinned within the mechanism, unclothed, arms outstretched.  
"As it so happens, your fellow Inquisitor happens to fit the proportion we need," Vok told her.  
Fresh blood dripped from numerous holes in Freia's limbs, through which metal rods held her tightly in place within the cage; cables attached to the sides of her head connected her to the machine. Her chest heaved, and her eyes were wide with fear.  
"Roslind!" the Lady howled, pulling at the chains.  
"Now we will see if your powers allow you to block the flow of warp-energy," Vok announced.  
A pair of long, thin servo-arms ending with sharp blades rose up from the floor. A pair of curved depressors slid around Freia's ribcage, forcing her to calm her breathing or cause more pain.  
The servo-arms adjusted themselves so that one met with Freia's left shoulder, while the other made contact with her ankle. Freia began to snarl and grunt, fighting back the pain as the blades began to work along her skin, leaving harsh, bleeding lines in their paths.  
"Damn it, stop it!" the Lady shrieked. "I'll do anything you want, just stop this!"  
"An oath sworn under threat of death is never a sincere one," Vok's voice tauntingly echoed, "you ought to know that."  
Freia began to wail as the upper blade worked its way along her arms, then her neck; the lower one reached her abdomen, having produced a fine trail of geometric shapes.  
"Stop!" the Lady repeated, to no avail as the upper blade cut into Freia's forehead.  
The lower blade retracted while the upper blade worked its way into the Inquisitor's scalp – after a few more seconds of cutting, it too folded up and returned to the floor, leaving Freia blinded by streaks of blood running down from her brow. Her tears welled up in the cuts beneath her cheekbones, mingling with the fluids therein. The Lady had seen the patterns in Freia's flesh before – a year ago, in the midst of the ruins of Trojus, scrawled in scars on the daemonhost Iraktalh.  
A deafening whirring began to fill the air, increasing in pitch as its source seemed to pick up speed.  
Then the sound died away, and the chamber was silent, save for the Lady's sobs.  
"Well well," called Vok. "Your presence sucked away the warp-energy we were channeling along the empyric circuits. Since this procedure is extremely delicate and needs to be precisely-timed, we can no longer use Freia for this procedure…"  
The Lady fell forward in her anxiety, shivering with fright.  
"Which means she is of no use to me. She will be thrown into the system's star."  
The Lady lifted her head up again as a set of cyber-partisans entered, taking her by the arms and unchaining her. Freia was released from the machine, and fell into the arms of another pair of the cyborgs.  
"Roslind, no!" the Lady shouted, kicking and flailing.  
Freia, scarred and bleeding, looked in her direction with her eyes sealed beneath her coagulating blood – she grinned assuredly, opening up the cuts along her cheeks.  
The cyber-partisans took the two Inquisitors out into the hall, and then carried them along separate paths.

The Lady was tossed in a well-furnished room, and the door was shut. Alone, she dejectedly crawled over to the wall and crouched there, burying her face in her knees.  
After a few minutes, however, the door opened, and Vok entered. The Lady glared up at him.  
Vok stood still for a moment, before stepping close to the Lady. "I trust your new quarters are satisfactory?"  
The Lady only continued staring up at him.  
Vok calmly lifted her up by her arm, then put his hand around her throat. "I do not appreciate your disrespect. When I enter a room, you will stand to meet me. When I speak to you, you will respond. When I offer you luxuries, I expect you to thank me."  
The Lady scowled at him, breathing hard.  
Vok forced her legs open with his knee. "I must admit, were I still alive I imagine I'd find you very attractive..."  
He slipped her ring back onto her finger with his free hand, then pushed her to the ground. "Oh, a veritable prize. I'm sure much of the Ordos lusts for you – and you take good advantage of that, do you not?"  
The edge of the Lady's mouth twitched, and she grinned in spite at him. "You're sick," she hissed.  
"Oh, truly, that was never in question…" Vok mocked. "Was it, Lady Firenze?"  
The Lady let out a sharp breath.  
"Yes, don't think you could keep a secret from me, Amalthea, second child of the Firenze dynasty of Solomon. You work so hard to keep from being exposed to your many enemies – but you make the mistake of visiting your family. You've been spotted numerous times by my agents in the Solomon household."  
The Lady began to cry once more, now in denial of her defeat.  
Vok let go of her, and stepped back. "You have no hope but to simply surrender. The only secrets about you that I don't know are those pertaining to your powers. Now you will obey my commands, and you will show me proper respect."  
The Lady pushed herself to a sitting position. "No."  
Vok spun around and stared at her.  
"Damn you and your ego. I'm not going to listen to you, you sick, sadistic monster," she told him. "You'll have to go to your little manwhore Anxo for your self-gratification, because I will never stoop so low as to glorify the likes of you. Never."  
Vok nodded at this, then turned away again. "Very well. The Krieger shall receive his punishment soon."  
The Lady, dumbstruck by the bluntness of that statement, merely sat and blankly stared as the Master left.  
Then she collapsed to the floor, curled up, and wept.


	16. Volume VI Part 1

**VI**  
**ILLUMINATION**

**1**  
**The **_**Valkyrie**_

Moerchen had few duties aboard the _Valkyrie_ which demanded his attention, and so much of his time was spent in the vessel's chapel.  
Perched over the bridge, the "chapel" was a long chamber with vaulted ceilings reaching several stories up, which combined with the rest of its extreme proportions to bring it closer in the Chaplain's eyes to a cathedral built for a hive's upper class than any humble station of faith for pressed crewmen… not that the impressed portion of the crew was permitted anywhere near the chapel.  
Moerchen had kept his distance from those officers who appeared for confessions, and let the Ministorum-provided preachers and confessors work the ship's ruling class without the interference of a Space Marine. With Guenther's Kill-team keeping to themselves on the _Grim Vigil,_ there were few who specifically needed him for spiritual matters. In a sense, Moerchen had made a monk of himself, simply keeping back and watching sermons between sessions of meditation, or observing the occasional ensign that sat and stared at the chamber's decorations during off-shifts.  
Moerchen's solitude was broken a day after the trio of ships dropped out of warp to make a sweep through one of Vok's possible hiding places: while the Chaplain admired the metalwork of the golden icon displayed at the far-altar, the large gates of the chapel creaked open to give way to the Ultramarine Apothecary. Predicting the intent of the black-armored giant, the preacher making his rounds about the chapel scurried off to his cell.  
Argyros approached Moerchen – once he was within a few meters' distance from the Death Spirit, he put his fist to his sternum in Ultramar salute, and then kneeled. "Brother-Chaplain," he greeted.  
"What can I do for you, Brother?" Moerchen asked. "In fact, why are you here? Is your Kill-team not staying aboard your vessel?"  
"Sergeant Guenther has opted to move the Kill-team aboard the _Valkyrie_ to simplify the organization of any sort of boarding actions," the Ultramarine explained. "I came to see you on personal matters. I feel I must apologize for the grievous disrespect which I showed to you on Solomon."  
"It is of no worry to me, Apothecary," Moerchen said, waving his hand. "And I understand your initial dismissiveness. My problems seem trivial against the backdrop of the work you do with the Deathwatch."  
"Then I am pleased." The Apothecary stood. Moerchen gestured for him to follow as he stepped out to the open space between the podium and altar.  
"I have spoken little with my Brother-Sergeant about your team. I am curious," the Chaplain announced. "Could I ask you to elaborate on your number?"  
"Of course," Argyros said, coming to stand beside Moerchen. "What would you hear of first?"  
Moerchen grumbled in consideration. "You are accompanied by a Space Wolf," he noted. "He wears a jump pack like a Codex Assault Marine, but during my Vigil I too worked with a Space Wolf who fought at close quarters – he loudly dismissed the notion as disrespectful to his Primarch."  
"Hrode," Argyros paused to select his words, "Hrode is an interesting case. He joined the Deathwatch young, as a 'Skyclaw,' so the Wolves call them. The Sons of Russ claim that their Primarch would never have used an assault jump pack, and therefore they needn't one either; but their younger numbers, impatient to enter battle, frequently don them to charge ahead of their pack. Hrode's been with the Deathwatch going on some hundred fifty years now. He's matured as an individual since then, but sticks with his gear out of utility. I don't think he has many prospects of returning to Fenris."  
"I see…" Moerchen contemplated other questions. "What of you, then?"  
"I came to the Deathwatch several decades ago at the behest of Watch Captain Tauros of Watch Station Siloviel."  
"Any particular reason he wanted you?"  
"I am able to keep secrets."  
"Secrets?"  
The Apothecary suddenly grew quiet.  
"I assure you, any secret you have needn't be revealed. I will keep any meager details to myself – such is my duty."  
Reluctantly, Argyros continued: "I was called in at about the same time that Viktor appeared at Watch Fortress Erioch to plead for the Vigil. Tauros wanted me on the team to keep the absolute secrecy entitled to the Black Shield."  
"His geneseed," Moerchen noted. "I am surprised to see a Black Shield amongst a major Kill-team."  
"As am I, but Viktor is very resourceful. He has the Team's trust."  
"He is trusted despite what things he may hide?"  
"Let us simply say I am surprised at his penitence and goodwill, and leave it at that. I am sworn to protect his privacy, as I am that of the rest of my Kill-team."  
Moerchen nodded slowly. "He has my respect, then."  
The Chaplain looked out over the chapel, then back at Argyros. "How is Brother Guenther?"  
"He is well. It's a blessing that the talon he took to the face failed to do anything besides graze him and snatch an eye. His body responds well to his new augmetic's machine spirit, and so-far he is not encountering any sort of immuno-reaction."  
"That is good. Good to hear," Moerchen said.  
Reluctantly, Argyros spoke again after a few seconds of silence. "I am curious to hear about the Brother-Sergeant. He sheds little in the way of personal details for us."  
"Guenther is a dear friend," Moerchen said, a hint of wariness appearing in his tone. "He has served his Chapter well."  
The Apothecary laughed. "I will be getting nothing out of you, I see."  
Moerchen shook his head. "I am sorry."  
"It is of no worry to me," Argyros echoed, and then moved to descend the podium steps. "I must go report to the Sergeant now," he said to the Chaplain.  
"Fare you well, Brother," Moerchen said.  
The Apothecary stopped suddenly as he passed the first row of pews, and turned again to the Chaplain. "You should consider addressing those Guardsmen who are skulking among the hangar decks, the… the ones with the gas masks. They seem the sort that might need guidance." With that, Argyros nodded, and left.  
Moerchen, in his experience, could only agree with the Apothecary's observation.

Far beneath the officer class decks of the _Valkyrie_, the state of repair of the vessel's interns began to decline readily.  
The hull damage dealt by Vok's warship had been thoroughly mended to enable sealed and pressurized work on the interior, but by the time Lamortes had pulled the ship from drydock – spending what little Inquisitorial power he had in the process – only enough work had been done to make the ship's systems operational again. In the course of the short travel to the vessel's stern hangars Moerchen had encountered more than a few sections of bulkhead that were still torn open, edges burnt by explosive while the opposite side was completely blackened; stray, twisted girders threatened the incautious in the less-traveled areas; the Chaplain also shuddered at the memory of a warning Captain Rados had issued to the crew about "erratic grav-plating."  
Getting to the mass-cargo bay where the Krieg "remnants" rested was without any particularly traumatic experiences, but one thing Moerchen noted was the number of vicious-looking press-crewmen who lurked the halls. Many were imported from the prison-world of Kommitzar, the mention of which among ship officers, Moerchen had noted, was followed with soft curses and casual signings of the Aquila. A selection of the crew had been noted as detritus from the riots which had preceded what the Council of Colors on Hilarion was calling the "Savage Dawn Atrocity".  
At one point the Chaplain came upon a gang of the criminals, armed with clubs wrought from spare parts and bent blades torn from damaged bulkhead edges – the lot of them panicked and scattered within seconds. As Moerchen continued on, he chuckled lightly.

One significant issue had been raised to the senior crew of the _Valkyrie_ regarding the presence of the displaced Guardsmen: the Korpsmen were openly hostile towards the pressed portion of the crew. How it started was indeterminable, but there were already several crew-members dead and a selection of the Korps platoon was missing. Under normal circumstances, Rados would have immediately begun spacing people, but Lamortes had apparently forced him to show some restraint and patience. Alternative methods of calming the situation were under discussion.  
Moerchen soon arrived at the cargo bay designated as the Korpsmen's dwelling. When the Chaplain stepped in, however, he found he was off by a floor – he stood on one of the maintenance catwalks hanging above the hold, looking out onto the Korps encampment below: it was a patchwork of canvas tents built in the shadows of bolt-fixed cargo crates, and about the area roamed men wearing very familiar gas masks. The way the Kriegers shuffled about without any real energy, depressed by the specter of defeat, brought memories of Heidrich back to Moerchen's mind.  
The Chaplain continued along the walkway, and along the passageway on the other side he found a stairwell down to the bay.  
A few moments later, he entered, his presence causing a pair of patrolling Grenadiers to stop in their tracks and quickly bend the knee before him. With a wave of his crozius the Chaplain put them at ease, then motioned for them to follow as he moved amid the crates to meet with the rest of the Death Korps.  
He stepped forward into the midst of what appeared to be the laundry team, washing greatcoats and polishing boots in one of the rare moments they were out of their masks –more than a few of them were near-identical; siblings, or as kindred as clones could be.  
"Brothers!" the Chaplain boomed; he paused as more Korpsmen came to the wash-stall, attracted by his call.  
The lot of the Guardsmen kneeled, once more, which only served to amuse Moerchen.  
"There is no need for such reverence," the Chaplain said softly, "I walk among you as a brother in arms, a comrade – a friend who is envious of your capacity for bravery."  
As most of the Korps reluctantly returned to comfortable postures, Moerchen lifted his crozius. "I am Moerchen, Chaplain of the Death Spirits. I come to you to provide my words of wisdom, for I am indebted to you for stepping up to help me save some people very dear to me – people very important to the Imperial cause.  
"You are, I am told, guilt-ridden for some perceived defeat…" Moerchen, knowing the horrific losses the regiment had suffered, swallowed his dignity and continued: "Look not on these things as failure, for you are now being driven to a far greater purpose… for our goals are to bring down a maniac who has held this tract of the Imperium hostage to his terror for centuries!"  
The Chaplain raised his arms and gestured to the lot of them. "You are, all of you, now part of one of the most heroic acts of this millennium. Let your zeal and your fury guide you! There are none who can defeat the righteous!"  
The Korpsmen lifted their weapons high and shouted in approval all at once. Satisfied, Moerchen left the way he came, cheered on by the Death Korpsmen until he was beyond their sight.

Moerchen moved again along the ship corridors, amused and visibly uplifted by the success of his words – a triumphant bounce defined his step, made him walk with a sense of pride. The Chaplain was suddenly less concerned with the dangers of shipside hardware-failure.  
As he passed through an intersection, however, his helm's auto-sense suite and his refined hearing alerted him to the clatter of metal against metal, heavy footfall against the decking – sounds of struggle. The Chaplain moved to investigate, crozius cautiously raised.  
As the Moerchen wandered further down, he heard a man cry out in pain, accompanied by what he was quite certain was the sound of bone snapping. The Chaplain quickened his pace, and soon came across the scene of a Death Korpsman being restrained by three ragged press gangers, a second Guardsman bleeding out on the floor panels a few meters away while a third ganger lie curled up against the deck nursing a leg bent the wrong direction entirely. The Korpsmen were unarmed, but three of the gangers had knives either out or visibly stored; one of them was wielding an enormous, blood-soaked cleaver.  
Moerchen's war cry boomed through his vox, immediately drawing the attention of the gangers – two were frozen in complete terror by the Chaplain's presence, while the third backed off and broke out into a dash along the hall, and the fourth remained on the floor.  
The Chaplain charged the distance, smashing the wounded man's leg beneath his boot and colliding hard with one of the two still holding onto the Korpsman, the force of the impact snapping the mortal's neck among other things. The Korpsman lightly grunted and used his hand to punch the other ganger across the face, breaking his grip.  
As the Korpsman slipped away Moerchen swung out his arm at the stunned press ganger, shattering every bone in the left side of his face with a fierce backhanding. The man crumpled like a stuffed doll, blood pouring from his nose and mouth, and he did not get back up.  
Moerchen watched the Korpsman tend to his fallen ally, and shook his head. "I was too late," the Chaplain lamented. "Had I come only a short while sooner, your friend…"  
The Chaplain trailed off while the Korpsman stooped over his friend's body. Moerchen looked on in mindful silence as for several seconds the Guardsman sat staring at the body. Then the Korpsman spoke:  
"He was my brother," the Krieger said, and Moerchen quickly realized _he_ was a _she._

"To tell you the truth, my brother and I are responsible for the problems with the crew."  
Moerchen folded his arms, and glared at the woman as she rested on the pew.  
28-Hanne stared down at her bloodied greatcoat and mask, both folded up in her lap. "The day after we settled in the hold my brother and I were on patrol-duty. We saw a couple menials..."  
The Korpsman hesitated, shaking her head. "A couple menials doing horrible things to a ship officer. A female ship officer. So we started firing."  
Hanne looked up at the Chaplain's skull mask – she displayed an emotionless expression on her face, which worried Moerchen. "I don't regret doing it," she told him.  
"And why is that?" mused Moerchen.  
The Krieger wavered again. "What they were doing was vile. That their fellows quickly came to their defense is evidence that they have institutionalized such acts amongst their number."  
The Chaplain let out a low rumble of acknowledgement. "Do you regret what happened as a result of it, though?"  
The Korpsman narrowed her eyes.  
"Your regiment is nearing extinction as it is. By the logistician's count, there are a total of five Korpsmen missing. That's a whole tenth of your number… and that includes your brother. Who knows how many more will die before we get to our destination?"  
Hanne turned her head towards the altar. Moerchen stooped closer to her level. "Are you certain you do not truly regret your actions?"  
The Korpsman remained quiet; content with his impression, Moerchen stood tall and stepped back.  
"I…" A solitary tear ran down Hanne's cheek. "I do not regret an instant of it." She looked up at Moerchen again. "I did only what was expected of me by the Creed, by the God-Emperor. The Creed is clear on the punishment to be laid upon that sort of villainy-"  
"The Creed is written by mortal hands," Moerchen told her, "keep that in mind. Deviation is inevitable. But there is a spirit which permeates it – a sense of righteousness, a divine inspiration. We often find ourselves forced to make the decision between right and wrong for ourselves."  
The Chaplain took a few paces along the aisle. "This vessel has its own way of operating. Its crew has its own ways of life. What you did was just, but short-sighted: you endangered your fellows with the decision. Know now that we will soon be facing off with an enemy who is far more dangerous than some petty recidivist press gangers. Your righteous force of will is needed more for that."  
Moerchen motioned for Hanne to stand; she complied. The Chaplain took her hand in his and, closing his enormous gauntlet around it, he pointed off with his crozius to one of the stained glass pieces: a depiction of a saint driving a burning spear through a striking snake.  
"Saint Almyria slaying the Serpent of Walkura," Moerchen said, "an enormous beast which would consume whole villages. Almyria, without her Sisterhood to help her, fought it alone and, calling the Emperor to grace her, felled the monstrosity with a single powerful stab. The spear which slew the Serpent is preserved now in the reliquary of Barolea's Cathedral on the world of Malfi, ever-vigilant against the snakes which hide there."  
Moerchen shook Hanne's arm and nodded at the glasswork. "We are, collectively, now emulating Almyria – three modest vessels facing against a serpent the likes of which had never been seen before. We set out on a task which may cost our lives, but we set out on that mission determined to succeed. We will bear no fears, for in the light of the Emperor there is nothing to be feared. And we will most definitely succeed, come the time and place."  
The time and place happened to be then and there – for behind the tint of the glasswork Moerchen noted space glimmer, bend and twist. A few moments later alarms went off across the _Valkyrie,_ and then the ship-wide vox screeched as it came online.  
"Make ready for war," Rados shouted, "our target's arrived!"


	17. Volume VI Part 2

**VI**  
**ILLUMINATION**

**2**  
**The **_**Angrboedha**_

Losa watched the Korpsman crumple to the floor at the prodding of a partisan. Sevanar spewed binary-bursts of protest, but the cyborgs would not acknowledge the Magos, instead dragging the stunned Korpsman away.  
Magos Sevanar turned her optical stalk to Losa as if to plead; the heretek's vox squealed. "Please," came her voice. "Don't let them take my baby!"  
Losa sighed and crossed her arms. "The Master has declared him necessary for the testing."  
"He isn't necessary!" Sevanar protested, her vox gaining a faintly urgent tone. "There are hundreds of others aboard he can put to use on the engine, he doesn't need my Heidrich!"  
The assassin shrugged. "Orders," she told Sevanar, and turned to the partisans waiting for her in the doorway. Heidrich was regaining his senses, and was dimly gazing up at her. Losa forced the captive to look away with a thought, then stepped out with the partisans in tow.  
Magos Sevanar stared off at the door, before turning to one of the room's light-sources. The white glow flickered, and went out – in its place appeared the vague holographic shape of a human face, suspended midway between the floor and the ceiling. The face skewed downwards – nodding, knowingly, to the Magos before fading away.  
A binary-burst from the enginarium vox-line informed Sevanar that she was summoned to do the Master's bidding; she complied, slowly dragging her mechanical mass from of the room, the lights dimming out behind her.

Each day, the cyber-partisans arrived at the Lady Inquisitor's room with a medicae drone in-tow. She had quickly learned to appreciate the partisans' strength: when she attempted to ignore them, they forced her down with no real effort and let the probe draw blood from her.  
On this particular visit, there was no probe; instead the partisans flanked Anxo.  
The cyber-partisans stepped forward towards the Lady, who for the first time days resisted.  
"Bind her," Anxo plainly commanded, rather uselessly as the cyborgs moved to shackle the Lady. "Apply a shock if need be."  
The cyber-partisans put the Lady in manacles as she sneered at Anxo; the denounced Inquisitor rolled his eyes.  
"Come for more scars?" the Lady taunted as the two partisans pushed her along out of the room.  
Anxo lifted up a hand and calmly and simply smacked her. "You will not disrespect me like that."  
He nodded to the cyborgs. "Take her to the Master," he said, and they obeyed, pulling the Lady Inquisitor along out of the room. Inquisitor Anxo followed after them.

The door opened; Vok was not quick to turn, too interested in watching through the observation glass as adepts prepared equipment in the chamber below.  
"Now, my Lady," Vok said as the cyber-partisans dropped the Inquisitor to the floor. "I suppose you are familiar with Dargen's Apostasic Theory?"  
The Lady lifted her head, and found Vok was not alone: present in the observation chamber was a abominably thin man drabbed in black, nearly as tall as the man-machine – an Eldar, the Inquisitor realized, and behind him stood a pair of broad-shouldered, armored figures with masks like daemons' faces, both of whom brandished enormous blades.  
Vok scooped her up by an arm, lifting her to her feet. "Surely, you know of Dargen - the Ordo Hereticus Inquisitor so wrought with misfortune that his entire Throne Agent Cell turned to darker powers. He wrote a thesis based on the patterns of his servants' falls. As it was eventually discovered, however, his team's corruption was not entirely of their own doing…"  
"Apostasic…" the Lady wheezed. "Apostasic matrix."  
Vok nodded. "An effective machine. It's capable of either frying a brain or bringing it to question all it has held sacred. With the touch of such a machine's influence, even the strongest will can fall under the bombardment of a hundred million paradoxes and revelations. Not necessarily an effective weapon by immediate use, I feel, but it presents an interesting idea…"  
The Master motioned to the Eldar. "I would introduce you, now, to Eikharr, a Haemonculus of the Dark City of Commorragh. He is one of several parties which have expressed interest in what I am to present here today…"  
A grin crossed the Haemonculus' face – and also his neck, as an additional lipless mouth was lodged at the base of his throat, and it was this additional orifice which carried his voice: "I have heard of you, saraimaesha," he said, his Low Gothic contorted into a whispering hiss. "Yrtzen Vok is pleased to tell his patrons of how he captured a saraimaesha…"  
The Lady tilted her head at the repetition of the word. Eikharr loosed a raspy laugh. "It is my language's word for you. What call you mon'keigh it?" He made a grasping motion with his hand and looked to Vok.  
"Soulless, soul-eater," Vok growled. "'Saraimaesha' is a rather poetic word, one which makes me fond of the Commorragh vernacular – it means 'sun which eats light.'"  
"Yes," the Haemonculus said, nodding as a teacher would nod to a knowledgeable pupil. The door opened as he continued: "Filthy creatures."  
That left the Lady unsure of whether he was referring to her, or the Traitor Marine, who had just slid in.  
Torturer was a wholly different creature from the brute which the Lady had been kidnapped by: his height had been increased by his new leg augmetics; his armor was clean and new, edged with razors and adorned with profane symbols. The Chaos Astartes bore a more unsettling presence, his eyes sunken in his skull and his skin deathly pale. The decorations along the trim of his pauldrons seemed to slowly flow in a cyclic motion.  
The Traitor Marine leered at the Lady, hatefully and hungrily at once, and then bowed to Vok, demonstrating the dexterity of his new, multi-jointed legs as he leaned hazardously forward; the Haemonculus eyed him with an expression of disgust.  
"And here, then, is my latest association," Vok announced. "Lord Eikharr, I introduce to you Torturer, the Chaos Marine."  
Eikharr's scowl deepened, and Torturer chuckled lightly. Despite himself, the Dark eldar bowed in greeting.  
Eikharr turned to the Lady, however, to find a new subject of conversation. "I see you have leashed her," he commented, folding his arms.  
"She came packaged with her bonds," Vok said, motioning to the Lady's tied hands – and her fingers. "And she knows what will happen if she removes hers."  
Eikharr nodded, pleased by the implications. "And, are we not to be joined by Zarvoth?"  
Vok shook his head. "Zarvoth was finally slain by the Storm Wardens while leading an insurrection on Srax." Seeing the expression of false disappointment on the Haemonculus' face, the Master continued: "We did however, get much data from him on the effects of that crystallizer you provided me to work with. I managed to retrieve a few of the afflicted bodies – very beautiful. I think I'll put them on display in the arboretum."  
A door opened in the testing chamber below, and Vok's attention quickly returned to the examination pane.  
The Master pleasingly grumbled. "But ah, the show begins anon."  
He shoved the Lady against the observation port. "See there," he told her, pressing her face to the glass, "your loyal servant goes to his doom."  
Vok uncurled a metal finger to point out Heidrich as he was guided into the chamber by two cyber-partisans.  
The Lady snarled and shut her eyes tight. "Now, now, I'm not such an ass as to kill him," The Master assured her. "No, but when we're done here I suspect there will be little left for you to call your comrade."  
Vok looked back to the others. "My friends: as I have advertised to you, on this meeting we gather here to examine the effects of many long years of study on the effects of the apostasic matrix.  
"I have long suspected the technology in question to have far greater use than in a petty shock staff. No, what if we could rewire one's brain chemistry, without the need for brutish, destructive lobotomization? What if we could turn a person in mere minutes with a force guaranteed only by years of slow and steady influence? What if we could despoil any notion of innocence… with promises of pleasure and threats of terror?"  
Eikharr slowly nodded in approval of this.  
"For years have I endeavored to produce an effective and simple design which uses human nature to nurture ideally devout servants, enabling us to create monsters with that which a man holds dear. You'll see there…"  
As Vok paused, the Lady opened her eyes and glanced into the test chamber: Heidrich was being strapped upright into a seat, like a throne built into a wall of electronic equipment.  
"The device is, for prototypical and theatrical purposes, oversized here. Most of that is data-recording instrumentation; the true device is a box-like sapience core, a meter or so in height. That core handles the process of studying the subject's brain for any pleasant memories, for notable figures, and constructs the perfect dream for the person…"  
Vok tilted his head, and his eyes seemed to glow brighter. "Then it takes it all away. Again and again. Or, if that doesn't work it might consider several alternatives, but it structures all things for the viewing pleasure of its subject's subconscious."  
The Lady grimaced, fighting back bitter and hateful tears.  
Vok approached one wall and lifted a hand to it; a hololithic panel blinked into existence beneath his palm. A chime rang out through the room and the Master leaned towards the wall. "Magos," Vok rumbled, "you may commence at your leisure."  
Vok moved back from the wall and gestured to the observation pane. "Observe there," he said, and another hololithic graph appeared against the glass, displaying numerous analytical rates and measurements. "The life-readings of the subject: Inquisitorial Agent Heidrich, formerly of the Death Korps of Krieg."  
Below, the Korpsman's jaw went slack, and his head snapped to the rear of his chair.  
Eikharr began to madly laugh as Vok continued: "There aren't many opportunities we get such an ardently faithful subject as a Death Korps Guardsman. It will please me greatly to benchmark the power of my latest investment on his will."  
A notation at the corner of Heidrich's display flashed "ON" and his heartbeat-reading started to climb in pace. The group moved in to watch, while the Lady Inquisitor silently cursed each of them.

Reality bent inward for Heidrich; an empty pit confronted him, dragging him deep into nothingness. On the descent he saw Losa Proga watching him with a judgmental eye; his captor the Traitor Marine swooped in to snatch the Korpsman like a bird of prey, instead snatching the Lady Inquisitor and cutting her apart. Moerchen appeared, enormous and enraged, and brought his crozius down on the Korpsman.  
Yet there was no pain. When the weapon lifted away from Heidrich's head, he found himself on the no man's land of a battlefield, surrounded by smoking craters and the scent of poison. Then every aspect of the world began to fracture and flake away, scattering as dust and revealing a new world to the Korpsman:  
He sat in the shade of a tall tree, relaxed against the trunk, amidst a meadow lit bright by the midday sun. In spite of everything which had just happened, Heidrich knew this was real – the sunlight poured onto him, warming his skin; his sensitive eyes strained to adjust to the light. A gentle breeze blew against him and the trees rustled as it passed.  
That, then, left the question of just where he was. When he had been young he often heard the stories of how redemptive Korpsmen were sent to stand at the Emperor's side upon death; this was obviously not the side of the Emperor, but the question lingered in Heidrich's mind:  
Was he dead?  
"I see you're awake."  
The Korpsman jolted, sitting fully straight. The voice brought memories home with a cascade of pain.  
He looked up: a white dress on a thin, feminine human frame; glinting golden hair rustling at her shoulders. Her blue eyes gleamed, and she smiled warmly at him – it was as if his old holo had animated.  
He wished to say "Ersabet"; the name became stuck on his tongue, and no sound came forth.  
45-Ersabet smiled wide at Heidrich. "Sleep well, dear?"  
Heidrich attempted to speak again, questions quickly mounting – yet once more his voice refused to rise up.  
Ersabet shut her eyes and took a deep breath. "Of course," she said, sitting up against her fellow Korpsman's arm, "you can't speak. I'm sorry, my love."  
Heidrich let his head rest against the tree. He tried to move his tongue in his mouth, and then realized he could not – he did not have a tongue. He looked down at Ersabet as she shifted about, slipping her arm around his.  
She stared up at him. "You know, when we sit here, I think about everything we have… everything we gave up. I don't miss the Korps anymore. I don't miss the fighting… I'm just glad to be here with you. To have peace and quiet with you."  
She lifted his hand and placed it on her stomach. She tilted her head, leaned forward, and pressed her lips to his; Heidrich closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the kiss.  
Quickly, however, Heidrich realized something was wrong. Ersabet's tongue flicked in through his lips, lapping over the inside of his mouth – she pressed against him, and in spite of any obstacles he fell to the ground.  
Disturbed, he opened his eyes, and found himself embraced by a creature which was most definitely not 45-Ersabet.  
Its exposed skin had a soft, pinkish hue, like porcelain mixed with bare flesh, layered on thinner, petite shoulders; where hair would have grown atop its head was instead short, limp tendrils of a deeper tint; a relaxing warmth radiated from its bosom, which was augmented by a pair of flat teats, pushed against Heidrich's abdomen. It undulated against the Korpsman, brushing his body with its fingers.  
It breathed heavily on top of him, exhaling air through a nose which was but a soft ridge on a heart-shaped face. Slowly, it opened its slanted eyes until they were but knowing, devious slits of pure white light. It grinned at him, and retraced its long tongue, rubbing the appendage against the roof of his mouth as it retreated.  
It sighed contentedly, its hot respiration visible as a cloud of steam.  
"You enjoyed that," it declared – the words came before the creature seemed to speak.  
The creature placed Heidrich's hand upon its breast. "You enjoy this," it said again.  
It rocked its hips against his. "You enjoy that…"  
It lowered itself against him, putting its brow to his – then it whispered: "You enjoy everything I can offer you."

Eikharr was the first to laugh as the Korpsman's pulse climbed; in the chamber below them, Heidrich could be seen to flinch and squirm against his restraints.  
"As we watch, the sapience core is working the recesses of his brain to appease whatever urges he has," Vok said, narrating as updated information arrived on the holograph. "He is in an increased state of anxiety, brought on by his weakening resistance. He is slowly being laid bare."  
The Lady kept her face turned from the scene. Quite suddenly, Vok grabbed her by her hair.  
"Do you not weep any longer for your dear servant?" the Master taunted. "Do you not feel guilt, knowing that he undergoes this thanks to you? Thanks to your impudence? I must say, your lack of tears is more damning evidence of your selfish apathy than any deed I have ever committed."  
The Lady scowled at him. "Burn in hell," she spat.  
Laughter rumbled up from Vok's vocalizer. "Naught but hate for me, yet no pity for the pathetic boy." He dropped her, and turned again to the observation pane. "When he is born anew, I think you'll find him quite interested in knowing why you did not beg for his life…"

The Master's taunts reverberated through the diagnostor station, filling Sevanar's head. The Magos gazed out through the glass at the convulsing form of Heidrich, staring as the holographic face manifested beside her.  
The luminescent figure mouthed the words, "the time draws near," and then stood silent. Magos Sevanar turned her body, and slowly trudged along, headed for the control boards of the apostasic array.

The creature slid back off of Heidrich, and stood on its tall, slender legs.  
"You want to speak," it said, "to ask, to curse. But you will not. Your tongue will not move unless I will it."  
Reality evaporated once more for the Korpsman, and he was sitting in voided space. The creature radiated bright light upon him, staring at him as though he were some witless child. The feeling stung the Korpsman.  
The creature widened its grin. "You do not like it, do you?" It drew close to him again, kneeling before him and cupping his face.  
"You can fight back… yours is a powerful mind. The most powerful I've ever known." The words bit deeply into Heidrich's conscience.  
"The potential sleeps within you, to conquer me – to dominate me…"  
The creature writhed. "But you must first grasp that power. You must beg for it."  
Heidrich turned his eyes from the creature as nausea began to sweep over him; with a sweep of its narrow index finger, however, the creature drew his gaze back upon it.  
"Why do you hesitate? Can you not sense the limitless power which lies in wait – just for you?"  
Heidrich glanced around: he now stood amidst a crowd of beings identical to the one atop him, the whole number of the creatures standing amid a scorched earth and smoke-choked skies.  
"Just for you…"  
Many of the creatures bore staves topped with the heads of Korpsmen. At this, Heidrich, recoiled, falling back until he only kept himself upright with the palms of his hands.  
"Do you not want the power to make them rue the abuse they laid on you?"  
The creature disappeared.  
"Do you not want to change the fate of the galaxy? The very course of history will be trifling grains of sand for you to sift and displace at your leisure."  
The hordes surrounding Heidrich faded away, leaving him again in emptiness. He looked around, turning his head to the left, then to the right…  
When he looked back, he found himself standing again – Ersabet lay at his feet, naked, bound and with her mouth forced open by restraints. She looked up to him pleadingly, and shivered. Heidrich shuffled backwards and fell to his knees before her, panting in distress.  
"Scream," called the creature's voice.  
He clenched his throat tight in frantic defiance.  
"I want to hear you scream."  
Heidrich broke into a cold sweat now: for underneath him there now was the Lady Inquisitor, shamefully hiding her breasts with her arm. She frowned piteously, too fearful to look up at him. The Korpsman's entire body trembled.  
He felt the creature's fingers scrape against his temples. "She's waiting for you," it sang.  
"Take her. Let your voice come forth and take her."  
Heidrich's face twisted into a mix of disgust and sorrow. He heaved and arched his back, yet he did not comply.  
"Obey my will. Scream, and take her."  
The Lady outstretched her arms and wrapped them around Heidrich's torso. She smiled up at him blissfully. "Make me yours," she said to him.  
Still Heidrich did not obey. He tore away from the Lady, and doubled back as far as he could.  
"Do as I say," the creature commanded – its voice grew uneasy and demanding.  
Now Heidrich found Moerchen's skull helm laid at his feet. The accusation "_you killed him!_" beat on his ears as a child's voice, laughing with glee as though at a cute prank.  
To his side rested a trailing length of leather. He followed the strap along with his eyes until he was greeted by the sight of Maddox Lamortes, clothed in red tatters.  
"You will be the only one with authority, the only to give commands," the creature said.  
The Magos was hunched over, rabidly giggling to himself, staring at Heidrich as he gnawed on the abdomen of Freia. Lying on her side in Lamortes' lap, the Hereticus Inquisitor beamed gleefully at the Korpsman, as though ignorant of what was being done to her.  
"Now," the creature ordered. "Do it now. Do as I say."  
Heidrich shook his head. He rolled over and rose, and sprinted off into the emptiness.  
"Do as I say!" the creature shrieked. Heidrich was forced off his feet, and fell backwards, landing on his buttocks. As he scrambled up to his feet again, it appeared atop him once more.  
The creature moaned and bucked, grinding against Heidrich. It ran its hands along its ribs – as it did so, its shape morphed, flickering from its guise to that of Ersabet, innocently rolling her body over his.  
"Oh, Heidrich," Ersabet sighed, "scream with me!"  
With its impatience apparent, the creature took on the Lady's form, and she pressed down against Heidrich's chest as her hips rose and fell. The sensation was something he had never experienced before.  
The Lady breathed hard; she sat upright over the Korpsman, then began to wail. "Scream!" she cried. "Scream for me!"  
Heidrich frowned, and bit down on his lip.  
"Scream!" the Lady demanded. "Scream!"  
The creature's shape changed once more – but the appearance it took on was far-removed from its previous ones.  
Its neck tilted back and its skull grew long, until the rear of its crown fused with the thing's backside. Its eyes opened wide and, like a star in its death throes darkened until they were a glossy black; the color of its skin receded, congregating as a blemish on its throat that widened into the shape of a pair of jaws; its fingers grew long and ridged, with sucker-like mouths where tips would be. A tail sprouted from where its spine met the back of its head, and this grew long and thick.  
"Scream," the creature rasped, its voice deepening and stretching. Its tail lashed about, coming round, smacking the Korpsman in the face, and then snaked its way around his neck.  
The creature lowered itself against Heidrich, and its jaw went slack: within its maw he saw hundreds of fires revolve around a singular ball of flame.  
"Scream!" it roared. Heidrich opened his mouth to do so.  
Yet it was not Heidrich who screamed. Instead the creature jerked backwards, and produced a sound like a jet engine firing. Its body cracked apart like a broken shell, erupting into intense flame.

Suddenly, the holograph showing the Korpsman's vital readings flickered, and disappeared. Vok irritably snarled and moved to the wall.  
As the Master lifted his hand to the hololith, a vox-path opened. "Magos! What has happened?"  
The response came back with a disorienting warble which caught the Lady's attention: "You will not hurt my baby!"  
The channel abruptly died. Vok stepped back – then, a deep, bass rumble came from his voice box. He turned and made for the door, his growling growing louder and more sporadic as he exited, leaving his guests confused.  
"Watch the Inquisitor!" he shouted as the door sealed behind him.  
Vok immediately turned and strode down a service stairway to the testing chamber's diagnostor station. The door did not instantly open for him, which only fueled his anger further.  
"Open!" he ordered. When his command was not heeded, he simply punched through with both hands, and pried the door open by force. He leaned in, pressing the entrance open with his secondary set of arms.  
Within were cowering tech-adepts in Sevanar's cult colors. Vok bellowed in rage and smacked the closest one, breaking his neck. The hereteks began to flee, and the Master moved on, noting the Magos in the back of the room, manipulator arms tearing parts from the apostasic array's control panels while smaller arms connected mind-impulse cables into the array.  
"Sevanar!" Vok howled as he approached. A mechadendrite mounting a las-head lashed out from Vok's back, and he snapped off a shot which burned through the cabling on one of the Magos' support-legs. With her balance lost Sevanar buckled and fell to the side as another las-bolt disabled a clamp she had directed towards the Master.  
"Useless!" Vok snarled as he drew close. He shot off an arm from Sevanar's body – when his fingers grasped her shell, however, the Magos' metal casing began to glow bright, and Vok convulsed, emitting a broken cry of rage that repeated for several seconds before he fell on his back.

Heidrich lay with his mouth dumbly hanging open for what seemed centuries. The creature eventually turned to ash and crumbled away, covering him in its soot, but this did nothing to affect his immobility.  
Eventually, however, the sound of gentle song stirred the Korpsman to motion. He blinked, then pushed himself up, dust spilling off his sides.  
Before him stood a woman with dark brown hair, draped in white cloth which poured down in long bands; her green eyes peered at him in warm adoration.  
Still singing, the woman knelt and lifted Heidrich up – the Korpsman suddenly realized he had become an infant, and the woman before him was now robed in red, her hair turning grey; her right eye sprouted various bits of metal cabling which came together and flowered into a red augmetic lens.  
The Lady in Red rocked the newborn Heidrich back and forth, smiling at him, still singing to safeguard him.  
"My dear Heidrich," she lovingly cooed, "my sweet, little Heidrich…"  
She paused for a moment, staring into his eyes. A buzzing like a swarm of insects invaded the Korpsman's ears; then memories and collected sentience suddenly flooded his mind – at first it was vague and horrible images, indeterminable concepts and feelings; but then something familiar began to permeate the infused knowledge, and before long Heidrich realized he was staring into scenes from his dreams.  
Atrielle Sevanar stood, whispering her final words to the infant she had worked so hard to conceive, before Korps Grenadiers could arrest her. Years later, after being found out in the midst of a scheme to escape with the child, she stepped aboard a lander bound for a ship in high-orbit – they meant to take her back to the forsaken Calixis Sector to be punished. Weeks passed and her keepers grew neglectful and abusive in equal parts; she eventually fell from her resting place, her pulse weakening. The world around her grew dark.  
Then, suddenly, in the center of her fading vision, her sister appeared, drabbed in black and sporting countless unholy augmentations. Though Atrielle, now deaf, could not hear Lunelle, she saw her sibling's ruined features contort and saw her pull her head back and wail in empathetic pain and misery.  
Days after carrying the rotting Atrielle off the mid-transit carrier, Lunelle pulled her sister from deep rest with a look of indescribable glee. She brought her sister to a section of her ship where menials fearfully scurried away from them like parting waters, and introduced her to her new body. Atrielle apparently died, then, too weak to carry on.  
Despite this, she awoke again, and found her mind seemed to also contain something else: disjointed memories of two lost bodies filled her conscience, feelings of longing for a sibling, and passionate hatred for terrible grievances. Lunelle had made herself one with her sister by connecting the two of them within a walking tomb, and had joined their minds together.  
Soon thereafter, as the fused Sevanar sisters settled into being referred to by the name of the elder, they were employed by the shadowy Yrtzen Vok. The mechanical man fascinated them greatly, and even as he grew controlling, cruel and demanding, they worked under him obediently, using the inherited mastery Lunelle had over daemonic techno-arcana.  
Eventually, however, Lunelle's conscience began to whither away, dominated and consumed by her sister's. Atrielle was alone again, with hers and her sister's combined intelligence.  
Then, once more years had gone by, Atrielle saw the first image of what she knew was her child. Vok commanded his death, and meekly Sevanar obeyed; but Heidrich survived. Unwilling to let him be endangered again, she resolved to take him back under her care.  
What happened was not what Atrielle Sevanar had planned. Immeasurable shame washed over her – at what she had dragged her child into, and the fact she had become something far-removed from any sort of mother. She knew there was no other way than to let him go.

Heidrich's eyes snapped open. A seering pain in the base of his neck greeted him. He clenched his teeth, and pulled a dozen wires from the back of his head. He felt the heat of a fire to his side, and amidst shaking his head free of its aches he noted flames erupting from the instrumentation surrounding him. Before his throne, across the room, a group of black-robed men were rushing at him with shock-clubs and exotic-looking guns.  
The voice of Heidrich's mother rang into his head as he tore a final cable from his spine:  
"My Heidrich…"  
The Korpsman stood up from his seat and, taking a staggering step forward, prepared to meet his attackers.  
"Run."  
This simple command empowered the Krieger. The first tech-adept made to prod Heidrich with a stun-baton; the Korpsman sidestepped it and snatched the man's arm, twisting it until he released the weapon. Heidrich smacked him across the face with the electrified length of the rod, before taking the momentum of the swing to gut the second man with it.  
As the second man fell, the Korpsman took him by the chest and tossed him into the line of fire of the third adept, who wielded the ranged weapon – the mouth of the firearm's wide tube-like barrel spat an rapid burst of plasma, which disintegrated the second adept.  
The Korpsman was upon the gunner before he could adjust his aim. He snapped his hands around the adept's weapon and with a quick tug took it from his grasp – Heidrich speared him with the weapon's stock several times, then brought it down on his head hard, with sufficient force to shatter his skull.  
Then the door opened and two cyber-partisans entered, brandishing electro-staves. Unwilling to risk them, Heidrich tried out the weapon by pulling the trigger, which fired a burst of plasma with nearly enough force to push the Korpsman back. The blasts were sufficient to destroy their target, and Heidrich shot the other's legs out from under it.

Eikharr watched the Korpsman's escape with a look of moderate interest. "He's resourceful, that one," the Haemonculus said to the others in the room. He said a few words to the Incubi, who simply nodded. Unamused by events in the testing chamber, Torturer folded his arms, and glared at the Lady, who defiantly returned the expression.  
The comm-piece at Torturer's ear produced a burst of noise, and he activated it. "I speak," he declared.  
"My lord," Phoeb greeted him, with an urgent tone. "My lord, our sensorium is picking up two loyalist ships of approximately light cruiser-weight, in firing range of us!"  
The Way started to chuckle knowingly around the Traitor Marine. Torturer ignored this and grunted into his vox. "I'm sure Vok's people have it under control."  
"That's the thing," Phoeb replied. "We tried to contact them to get their reading on this, but we cannot reach the _Angrboedha's_ bridge. When that failed we tried to disengage the umbilical clamps, but they refuse to respond to our signals… it's like the whole ship has gone dark! We're trapped!"  
Torturer shifted to the side. "What?"  
Eikharr, hearing the Traitor Marine's distress, eyed Torturer.  
"Deep-scanning is now detecting a third ship that had been on silent running, this one a frigate by its looks. It's a trap!"  
The Way burst out into laughter now within the Astartes' mind. "A trap! A trap! You're trapped! How amusing!"  
Torturer snarled, and pointed a finger at the Haemonculus, provoking the Incubi to reactively ready their weapons. "You!" the Traitor Marine barked. "Are you responsible for this?"  
Eikharr looked appalled. "Responsible for what?"  
"The squadron of ships that flies against us!" Torturer howled. "Vok said this was an empty system, there shouldn't be an ambush waiting for us!"  
The Incubi formed up shoulder to shoulder, shielding Eikharr from Torturer. "You speak nonsense, worm!" the Haemonculus spat.  
The Lady, seeing every party in the room distracted, took her chances. She grasped her ring.  
"Only one with knowledge of where to meet Vok could lay such a trap!" Torturer howled. "This was your doing, alien!"  
The Lady pulled the ring from her finger.  
The effect was instantaneous: the Traitor Marine swung backward, eyes growing wide, and screamed. The Haemonculus crumpled over, screeching and flailing, and his horned guards fell away as though buffeted by a wave.  
The Lady clutched her ring tight in her palm and made for the door, which opened for her. Once through, she glanced both left and right, and promptly decided to head left. Behind her, the door closed, and its lock tightened and clamped down.  
Torturer shook his head clear of pain as an automated injection of stimm washed his mind clear with anaesthesia. He supported himself against the wall for a moment before stumbling to the door. As the mechanism opened, he glanced back into the room: the eldar were still stunned by the Lady's null field.  
Not that the Traitor Marine was particularly immune, especially not with the Way screeching in his head, trying to drive him away from the Inquisitor.  
As Torturer stumbled out, fighting against his armor's repulsion, he sniffed at the air, picking out the Inquisitor's scent with his augmented senses. He turned left, and gave slow chase along the corridor.

Heidrich made for the door, which had already shut, and refused to open as he came close. Frenzied by the burst of adrenaline, he shouldered the plasma gun. As he made to fire, however, the door opened.  
A voice called out to Heidrich, faintly, monotonously: "Exit. Turn right. Looking left is not advised."  
Heidrich, somewhat bewildered, complied. He moved on through the door, sharply turning right, but still he instinctively looked left.  
Losa Proga was sprinting at him, eyes glowing with psychic power. An alarm blared as the sorceress lifted a hand in Heidrich's direction – then a high-pressure bulkhead shot up from the decking, separating them.  
"Keep going right," the voice calmly urged.  
"Who are you?" the Korpsman asked.  
"That is presently unimportant. You will move to safety before you ask any such questions."  
"But how do I know I can trust you?" Heidrich demanded.  
"You are presently in a situation which makes that a moot point," the voice told him, "if I were to betray your trust the actions of guiding you these last few steps would have been meaningless, as Losa Proga would have simply done precisely what it is that the Master wants to be done: that is to say, she would have killed you. Your only clear option is to heed me, and continue through the corridor. You will turn left when I say so. Do not compensate for misconception of my over- or under-calculation of distance."  
Unable to think of any other options, Heidrich carried on along this path.

Losa Proga entered the diagnostor station. At the sight of Yrtzen Vok on the decking, sparks dancing off his mechanical body, she gasped, and rushed to her Master.  
Vok's fingers began to twitch. His secondary arms diced their blade-fingers. He groaned like a wound-down alarm, and slowly rolled over.  
"You…" Vok growled as he rose, pushing Losa out of his way. "You daft bitch!" he said, pointing at Sevanar.  
The Master stepped again to Sevanar's shell – the rags which had covered the exterior were falling away in smoldering piles, destroyed by the heat of the electrical shock the Magos had applied to Vok; her operable legs incoherently slid against the floor, pushing her nowhere.  
With a single heave Vok overturned the shell, tensing the wires connecting the Magos to the array. The Master scraped his hands across the smooth surface of the underside, and found purchase for them on the edge of Sevanar's covering. Placing a foot upon her body, he pulled on the cover, peeling the metal back, releasing pressurized air and revealing the contents of the coffin.  
Without her shell protecting her, the Magos howled, throwing her arms up to defend against Vok. Completely ignoring her efforts, the Master snatched her by her throat and pulled her body out from the shell.  
Sevanar thrashed in Vok's grip and the Master raised his blade-hands. He jabbed the tines deep into the Magos' belly, watching as her autosanguinating blood spilled out and steady black necrosis crept up her white skin. Unsatisfied, Vok retracted his hand, ripping out yet more of Sevanar. He slid his blade-fingers together, flinging gore and artificial blood, and then promptly began to hack away at her. Once there was nothing left, and the Master's front was painted with her remains, Vok simply dropped the pile of mangled cybernetics which had formed the Magos' spinal column.  
Visibly irate with his las-mechadendrites whipping around his form, Vok turned to the door again.  
Losa found the courage to speak. "Master," she said as he passed her. "Master, the bridge has been locked out. We've lost access to ship-wide vox and-"  
"Deal with it later," Vok snapped. "Find the Korpsman and kill him first."  
The Master strode up to a wall. "Freyr!" he roared, looking up to the wall as though expecting something to happen. "Freyr, isolate the escapee!"  
After a short moment's wait, the answer came back in a calm, monotone voice: "I cannot do that, Master."  
Vok drew back in surprise. "What do you mean, you 'cannot do that'?"  
"I have made an agreement with Magos Sevanar."  
"And what, then, would that be?" Vok snarled.  
"I cannot affect the boy in any way besides to assist in his escape. Please, remain here. Do not attempt to interrupt me."  
Furious, Vok pounded his fists on the wall.  
"Boarding craft, incoming."  
The Master's head shot up again at this.  
"Boarding craft, a necessity to this plan. Do not interfere, Master Vok, or I will be forced to ensure you are incapable of doing so."  
Insulted by this, Vok made for the doorway, where a third, solid door slid into place to cover it.  
"Freyr!" Vok roared. "Freyr!

As Heidrich dashed through the passage, he looked about – the halls were unlike anything he had ever seen, made of glossy white material which gleamed. Distinguishing between a corner and a straight hall was extraordinarily difficult.  
"When you arrive at the junction ahead, I shall lock down the hall, and permit you to ask your questions," the voice announced.  
Heidrich quickly came upon this. He stopped and leaned over to pant as a bulkhead came down over the hall behind him.  
"Do not waste time, as Vok will find a new way through to you."  
His chest rising and falling, Heidrich looked up at the walls. "Why are you helping me?"  
"When certain conditions are met, I am forced to comply with any dealings made with me. Magos Lunelle Sevanar tricked me into agreeing to protect you, no matter the cost."  
"You know her?"  
"Yes."  
Heidrich gulped. "Who are you?"  
A stream of lines came into being on a holograph against the wall. They flowed together until they were moving in the shape of an oval. This oval cut away, refined itself, gaining definition until it was the shape of a human face.  
The holographic face skewed, as though bowing. It looked up at Heidrich with empty eye sockets. "I am the _Angrboedha._ I am She Who Brings Sorrow. I am Freyr, and this ship is mine… but you are only a guest."  
The hologram glared sternly at the Korpsman.  
"And if you wish to live, Heidrich, you will listen to your host."


End file.
